Then There's Three
by gleekymcgrey
Summary: Molly Hooper was tired of wishing for things to fall into place in her life. So she decides to have a child without a husband through an anonymous donor. But of course, her attempt at building a new life outside of her chaotic work was all for naught when she finds out years later that the donor she chose was no other than Sherlock Holmes himself. (Read/Review)
1. Chapter 1

Molly did a lot of half-thought decisions in life. But it would never include _this._

She remembered being eleven years old, home from her first year in boarding school carrying a small stray pup she found on the train station. Would have been fine and safe, if said pup didn't contract rabies days later, almost killing a teenager in the neighborhood. Then a year after that she gave her grandmother's locket— _wasn't much, not even real gold, but her mother was rather fond of it_ —to a gypsy who told her she could predict Molly's future. Fast forward to eighteen years later, she bought her small flat because the broker told her she won't get a better deal in London and she believed the bastard, so now she was making-do with the long commute and the repairs while paying a demanding upkeep.

Truth be told, she hadn't been the wisest when it came down to decisions. But looking at the little bundle of joy cooing peacefully in her arms, she wondered why she almost didn't push through when people told her she couldn't do it; but mostly she was glad she didn't listen. "Hello there, my little prince."—she said, tired and spent because reading and learning about child rearing in medical school didn't prepare her for the real thing.

"Oh Molly, he's precious." Mary cooed as she entered the room, John keeping up Elizabeth tried to wiggle out of his hold. An adorable energetic tyke the little Watson turned out, and she was draining all of her parents' energy all the time. The pair had never been happier though.

Molly held her arms out so they could better see, "He is, isn't he?"—she said proudly. He was born with a few tufts of curly, dark hair on his head— _not from her—_ and his eyes were inexplicably blue— _also not from her—_ she wondered how much of the unknown dad had made it into her baby boy. _Not that it matters—_ she told herself. Whoever the dad was, she was thankful.

"Named him already?" John asked, giving up on his quest to keep his daughter still and placed her on the foot of Molly's bed, holding her by the hem of her shirt so she wouldn't fall.

"Yes, he's William." Molly announced happily.

John looked surprised, "William, as in after…" He was about to say _Sherlock_ but why would Molly name her son after Sherlock Holmes anyway, so he stopped himself short. "…after someone I guess?"

"My dad, actually." She smiled in remembrance of her father; quite the best dad in the world, if Molly had to decide on a global scale. "Margaret after my mother if it was a girl, but then here he is."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 _Ten months earlier_

"Wow, Molls…I—I don't know what to say." Mary skimmed through the brochures Molly plucked out of her sling bag. Her baby daughter reached her hands up, fighting for Mary's full attention. "Are you sure you want to push through?"

Molly heaved a deep breath and smiled, "I don't know, Mary. Thing is, I've always wanted a family, you know? A husband and children in that particular order preferably…but I…well, I don't see that happening to me anytime soon. It might be too late for me to find someone to spend the rest of my life with, but it's not too late for me to have a child." Her words felt rehearsed, like she had written it down, memorized them and said it out loud to her friend. Like somehow Mary's approval was the green light to her plan.

"Oh come on, surely it can't be too late for you to find a nice man?" Mary smiled, more sympathetic rather than encouraging, and Molly snorted. "I'm not joking, Molly Hooper! You're a wonderful woman and anyone should be lucky to have you."

Molly smiled weakly then, because 1) She knew the things she were and the things she weren't, and 2) Even if she _did_ find somebody, she can't ever give her full heart to them because, 3) How can she give something she didn't have? If people were given once chance at one _great_ love— _a bit cheesy, even for her_ —then that one love would be Sherlock Holmes, and she knew right from the beginning that that was a lost cause. There was no rule saying that they will eventually love you back if you wish it hard enough. That was just the way the awful cycle goes.

Mary put on hand on Molly's on the table in between them, "Hey, listen…you'll be a great mum, Molly. No doubt 'bout it. But motherhood is…the _hardest_ thing I've ever done, and I have John to help me. You'll have us of course, but most of the time…"

"It'll be just me, I know." She sighed again, but this time with a small smile. "It'll be like it had always been; just _me_. But this time…"—her smile spread across her soft features, and to Mary it couldn't have been clearer. "…well, I won't be alone. Not really."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 _Nine months earlier_

Molly couldn't help the smile that kept tugging on the edges of her lips. That day she had been called for an appointment at the fertility clinic, and at first she thought the procedure didn't work—because _everything_ in her life _just_ didn't work—but when the doctor presented her with the results and told her she was pregnant, Molly couldn't believe it. _It worked!_ It was rare for artificial insemination to work on the first try, so Molly had reason to believe that this was meant to be.

"…do indulge us, Molly." Sherlock broke her out of her thoughts then went back to stabbing the mushrooms on his plate. She must have looked so clueless then because John had to take it on himself to repeat Sherlock's words. "Sherlock was saying how you haven't stopped smiling since you sat down. Care to share the cause?"

The others—Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson—tuned in for her answer and Mary's eyes lit up, already in the know of what she was about to tell the group, though Sherlock thought that separating the peas from the carrots were far more interesting…

"I'm expecting."

"Expecting what, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, clueless. Mary let out a gleeful squeal and covered her mouth with her hands in excitement. Sherlock looked up at her then, giving her an once-over with wide eyes.

"No…"—he mouthed in disbelief.

"Yes, actually. I'm pregnant." The words came out hushed, the joy of it all overwhelming her. Somehow spreading the news to her friends made it all real, and their happiness stacked up to hers brought happy tears to her eyes.

Lestrade raised a glass, "You're going to make one hell of a mum, Hooper."

Then Mrs. Hudson smiled so wide Molly thought her jaws would lock, "Oh dear, I'll make you one of those knitted bonnets I gave to Mary and John's little one. Oh! It will be wonderful!"

"Jasmine tea works wonders for morning sickness." Mary advised, and then John chimed in, "—our OB's fantastic, Molly. If you want her number, just say the word."

And Sherlock…well, Sherlock had been awfully quiet during the whole ordeal. His brows were furrowed, his eyes not leaving Molly as he sat frozen in his seat and probably pissed as hell he didn't see it first. He found out Mary was pregnant before anyone else, but failed to see it on Molly? Plain, predictable Molly Hooper managed to surprise him, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"Who's the father?" Sherlock managed to say after some time of silence, effectively stealing everyone's attention away from the mother-to-be sitting across him on the table.

"Couldn't have been Tom since you ended the relationship three months ago and by the looks of the pregnancy, you're obviously not far along because believe me, _I_ would have seen the signs. You haven't met someone new either because you have been spending extra hours in the laboratory, leaving no time for social calls such as that of a romantic date or a night out for drinks. So, Molly Hooper, would you be kind as to divulge the identity of this new, secret lover and the father of your future child?"

Molly was shocked; of course she knew Sherlock would have other things to say about the matter; he was Sherlock Holmes after all. But she didn't expect him to sound so… _angry._ "Well, actually I don't know."

Mrs. Hudson spoke up, "Did you at least catch a name, dear?"

"No, god, it's not like that." Molly chuckled, "I went through artificial insemination. Picked out an anonymous donor from an album of some sort, and all I cared about was the impressive intellectual quotient and quite remarkable physical attributes. And of course, no history of hereditary abnormalities or you know… _sociopathic tendencies_."

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed and tapped his fingers, his gaze faraway like he was deep in thought. After a while he spoke again, and smiled at Molly. "I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Terrible? Cheesy? Let me know what you think in the reviews!

x CF


	2. Chapter 2

_This was a terrible mistake_ —Molly said to herself as she rocked an inconsolable William in her arms for what seemed like forever now. She worried about the thin walls of her flat, but mostly she worried she might start crying too if she didn't get him back to sleep anytime soon.

 _Mary was right! This is too hard…oh god, I can't do it!_

"Oh William, what do you want honey?"—she pleaded. He was plenty fed, his diapers were clean, his temperature was normal, and she was sure she burped him. So what was it he needed?

"Molly?"—She grunted as she heard the familiar voice calling out for her. _Oh god, not now._ "Molly? Are you in the nursery?" Sherlock's voice echoed from her empty living room. _Of course I'm in the nursery, you dimwit!_ Then she heard footsteps coming for her, then the heavy swing of the door. "Ah! There you are."

Molly looked at him furiously, "Now's not a very good time Sherlock, as you can see."

"But I need you on a case." He asked childishly, seemingly impervious to the wails filling the entire apartment or the dark circles under her eyes from exhaustion. "Mother of two disappears without a trace, Lestrade told me—that is impossible, of course. Body shows up outside of Buckingham Palace, propped up against the gates and dressed up like royalty." He paced the nursery like an unstoppable force of winds. "I would have come to Anderson but you and I both know he's not the brightest lamp post on the street. So, I need to know if you can acquire a…"

"Shut up!" She yelled, and it might have been the first time she yelled at him that way, because he stopped his babbling and just looked at her. "It's three in the freaking morning so please shut up and leave. If you can't help me with _my_ problem then I can't help you with yours." Her voice was shaking, but even then William didn't let up.

Sherlock sighed, and walked towards her. She took a tentative step backwards, but then he said, "Oh for god's sake, give him to me, Molly Hooper." She was still fuming, but quite honestly she was flat-out tired and help in any kind was really appreciated, so she did. "You have fed him?"

Molly let out a cold laugh, "Oh right, why didn't I think of _that_ , Sherlock? Of course I fed him!" She wanted to yell some more, past the point of caring what her neighbors would think, but then by some miracle William's screams turned into soft sobs, then as Sherlock started humming a tune—classical, Molly thought—William slept.

Just. Like. That. "How did you…I don't understand…"

"John's baptized me as the baby whisperer." He winked at her as he continued to gently rock William in his arms, his small body pressed against broad chest. Molly dropped herself onto the rocking chair; it was her turn to cry. "Please don't do that." He visibly cringed, "You, of all people should know that I won't know what to do or say to make you feel a little better."

She laughed after a while, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I…I think I'm going crazy." Molly got up, and Sherlock put the sleeping baby on her arms. _Does this mean I'll have to call him every time William does this?_ It wasn't such a bad thing to happen, and it made her smile."...sorry about the yelling earlier. I thought he wasn't ever going to stop. Thank you for what you just did."

Sherlock shrugged, as if what he did didn't already mean the world to Molly. "Now, onto my problems?" She smiled and set William on his cot, praying to God he'd stay that way till the morning.

"I think I have time for that." Molly wiped her tear-soaked face and walked alongside Sherlock to her kitchen.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 _Seven months later_

Sherlock scowled as soon as he saw her enter the lab pushing a blue stroller in front of her. Molly smiled at him apologetically, like it was her fault she can't bring her own son into her own lab just because it will distract a non-medical, non-employee personnel that was Sherlock Holmes. If Mike Stamford was fine with William sticking around, Molly had no reason to hold back.

"Sorry, Sherlock. Nanny asked for a day off." She strode past him, and went into what was once a well-ventilated spare room she cleared out and painted a soft green hue, with a small playpen and plane stickers. She had Sherlock take down the door, too—against his will, of course—so she could easily check on him while she worked.

"Don't apologize to me, Molly." He didn't peel away from the microscope when he spoke, "I'm not the one inhaling chemical fumes at such an early age."

William was turning eight months in a week, and he was already turning out to be a clever little genius, and an adorable one, too. His dark curls had grown lighter until he had the same hair color as Molly—much to her delight—and his eyes were becoming a lighter shade of blue with specks of green and golden brown. _Thank your daddy for that, Will. Whoever that is._

Molly rolled her eyes, "I tested the air in the room, you know. Perfectly safe for Will." Once he was happy in his cushioned pen, Molly set out to start the day's work. "And you just like pretending that you don't want him around."

Sherlock looked up at her, "He puked on my shirt yesterday. Thrice." She laughed and shook her head, pulling the log books from underneath her desk so she could update them. He eyed her carefully then, from the pink polka dots blouse down to her gray sneakers. Always the oddball, Molly Hooper.

"It's not funny, Molly." He grunted in a _no-one-can-know-I-adore-the-little-boy_ Sherlockian fashion, but he had a feeling Molly already knew that trick. Molly always saw through him, and it was _disconcerting._

"Well he loves you too, Uncle Sherlock."

Thankfully, Will didn't make a fuss and Molly only had to pick him up for his mid-morning feeding, only started to cry when he needed a change of diapers which she immediately did, and afterwards he peacefully played on the floor till he fell soundly asleep while holding a blue plush cat to his chest. Sherlock came and left every now and then—god knows where he went—and sometimes he would check William with only his eyes when he thought Molly wasn't looking.

Then she'd shake her head and bite her lip, because it was adorable to see him cautiously looking after Will. Though why he had to keep his affection a secret was a mystery to Molly. "Something to eat, Sherlock?"—she stretched her sore muscles and hopped off of her stool, thinking paper work can wait till after she was satiated.

"Digesting…" he began, taking down notes on his black Moleskine journal.

"…slows you down, I know. I'm getting you a sandwich either way." Molly headed towards the double doors, "Can you look after him for just a second? I won't be long, I promise."

He groaned but seemed up to the task because he set his note-taking aside.

"Thank you. No experiments!"—she said before leaving.

William, formerly at peace with his plush toys and the solar system hanging above his head, seemed to notice his mother's absence and broke into a hysterical cry as soon as the door slammed shut. Sherlock groaned… _what now?_ He glanced at his wristwatch and realized it had to be the peak hours down at the cafeteria, therefore it would take Molly at the very least, twenty five minutes to get back.

Sighing, he got up from the stool and went inside the makeshift nursery, looking down at William who looked back up at him, reaching out pudgy arms for attention. "What am I to do with you, William?" he knelt down, close enough for the little boy to grab a tuft of his locks and began tugging. "Ow, ow…go easy."

He gurgled and cooed incessantly, and when he'd grown tired of Sherlock's hair, William picked up a stuffed dinosaur and held it out to him. "Yes, Tyrannosaurus Rex. When you're old enough maybe your mum will take you to the museum and see one, hmm? I don't see the big deal. It's only a bunch of bones of what was once a great reptile, held up by wires from the ceiling."—he picked the child up and sat on the floor with crossed legs. "—a bit boring, if you ask me."

William rested his head against Sherlock's chest, "Don't puke. I am rather fond of this shirt. Molly gave it to me." He brought his lips to his ear and whispered, "Don't tell her that. While I do care about her greatly, I do not intend on letting her feelings for me to fester. But you're here, and now she's plenty distracted." He planted a soft kiss on his chubby cheek, feeling warmth spread through him.

He didn't know why but he had been quite attached to the child from that very first day at the hospital when Molly brought him into the world. And he _didn't_ like not knowing. Why his feelings towards this particular child was different from that of the other children, even to John's daughter whom he adored very much, baffled him. So he attributed it to the fact that he saw William every day, for the lack of a better answer. That, and the little wonder was obviously more advanced compared to other children his age. It wasn't such a surprise, really…Molly Hooper was after all the most qualified pathologist London has ever seen. Why else would he choose to work with her? _Yes, why indeed Sherlock?—_ he asked himself.

"Ah, time for your nap." He shifted Will so that his head was now nuzzled against the crook of his neck, and then rubbed soft circles around his back. It must have been working because after a while his breaths evened out and his death grip on Sherlock's collar had loosened.

He heard the door open, followed by Molly's familiar shuffle coming towards them. "Sorry I took so long. You won't believe the queue…oh." She stopped short outside the door, looking down at him with a wide smile plastered on her lips. "You…you put him to sleep?" _That's new._

"It wasn't that hard." Gently he set William down on the playpen and put a fleece blanket over his waist, and ran his fingers through the small tufts of brown hair. He walked past Molly, ignoring the pink color spreading across her cheeks or the way she bit her lip when she thought he wasn't looking. He didn't want Molly to fall any deeper than she already was, not because the affection was unwelcome, _no._ Molly was a wonderful woman who stayed by his side and helped him cheat death once, who endured his blunt remarks on her clothing and her physical appearance. She loved him through all that and all of it was clear to him as day.

Sherlock didn't think he deserved a woman like that.


	3. Chapter 3

I would like to say thank you to those who followed this story! It's my first Sherlock fanfic so I don't know if I voiced the characters right. I don't have a beta reader but I try to catch some of the mistakes in every chapter.

Let me know what you think!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"You invited Molly, right?"

John asked as he set Mrs. Hudson's best china on the dining table. And because Sherlock's parents were coming over for the Christmas dinner, everyone— _all except Sherlock, actually_ —agreed to clean every nook and cranny of Sherlock's apartment slash science laboratory. So by three in the afternoon, the fridge had nothing but edible materials, the body parts sent back to Bart's for safekeeping till the whole Christmas season blows over.

Sherlock looked up from the papers, wondering why it seemed an obvious thing to do. "W-why would I invite Hooper?"

John glared at him, "Because these past few months you've been wreaking havoc in her laboratory quite a lot. And it is William's first Christmas, you git." Mary was hell-bent on making the stalks of vases stand in the vase but they always end up droopy.

"…and?"—he was sitting straight now, the morning's paper ignored and abandoned on the coffee table.

"Oh Sherlock,"—Mary faced him, "It's a big deal. Last year on Lizzie's first Christmas, do you remember we did?"

"Like I could forget." Sherlock sighed, fishing his phone from his pocket and dialed Molly's number; he had her contact memorized and he didn't even realize it till that moment. On Elizabeth's first Christmas they went great lengths to have all their friends over for dinner, and Sherlock haven't seen so much pie at a table. Apparently a child's first Christmas was a big deal to new parents. He thought it was just like any other day, only people like to pretend to be nicer to each other. The _Magic of Christmas,_ as Mrs. Hudson called it.

"Bought a gift, right? For William at least." John muttered under his breath. Sherlock looked up at him again, wondering once again _why he would do such a thing!_ "…because he's rather fond of you, and I know you adore him."

"Fine, I will give him something." So for the sake of tradition he called her, and Molly answered on the fourth ring like she always did. Whether it was out of habit, or her subconscious getting the upper hand with him, Sherlock wasn't sure.

"Yes, Molly. Come over for dinner. No, no need. Yes. Goodbye."

He leaned back and thought about an appropriate present for William. No, he was too young for a suture kit, though he was sure Molly would appreciate it given her line of work. No, not a puppy, Molly said he was allergic to fur and she had to give Toby to her Gran because of it. Not a piece of clothing, because babies his age grow up tediously fast and it would be of no use to him in a month or two. Funny how he knew so much about William now; the toys he liked and the toys he didn't, the food he ate and the food he couldn't stand. Then… _aha! Of course_ —he smiled to himself as he thought of the _perfect_ gift.

Sherlock got on his feet and grabbed his coat and scarf.

"Oi, where are you going?" John peered from the kitchen.

"Out. Be back in an hour. Depends." He shrugged.

John frowned, "You'll be back for dinner, right? It's _your_ parents that's coming over."—he tried to tell him as he jogged down the stairs. Then he turned to his wife, now setting the pies on cake stands in front of what she said would be Mycroft's spot just so she could torture him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Molly arrived at 221B at five carrying William against her hip, and a large blue baby bag slung over her shoulder. She couldn't remember the last time she looked at a handbag now that Will required a closet whenever they went out of the house. Mary greeted her by the half-open door to Sherlock's flat, quickly making note of the voices— _too many voices_ —coming from the kitchen.

She was all set with spending Christmas alone— _not alone, she had Will after all_ —and had already shopped the ingredients for the family cranberry pie recipe and even made it a point to stop by her favorite restaurant for a slice of cheesecake. A bit lonely really, now that she thought about it. Sherlock's flat was brimming with colors— _Mrs. Hudson's idea, no doubt_ —and the air smelled of mint cookies and savory roast pork, that her plans for Will's first Christmas in the world felt bland in comparison. Only God knows why Sherlock decided to invite them over— _maybe John told him to, or whatever—_ but she was more than glad that he did.

"Uh…Sherlock said not to bother with food…" She hesitated as Mary ushered her into the couch. "Is that okay?"

"Oh we have enough to last a week, don't worry. Let me help you with that, Molls." John took her bag and replaced it with a glass of champagne, pinching Will's cheeks before he went back to pouring sparkling liquors on the tall glasses. "Lizzie, sweetheart! Will's here."

"Mary? Does Sherlock have other visitors?" She couldn't see the kitchen, but didn't recognize the voices echoing in banter with Mrs. Hudson. Looking around the colorfully lit-up living room, she realized Sherlock wasn't in sight. "Where is he anyway?"

"Ah, yes! His parents, actually. He's out running _errands_ , I think. Let's hope he makes his way back for dinner. His mum's a tough iron lady." Molly's eyes widened in surprise. In all the years she'd known Sherlock, not once did he ever mention or introduce his parents to his friends. As a result, she had always wondered what they were like, though.

 _Uptight, like the Holmes brothers?_

"Come, come, they want to know about the woman who weaned the younger Holmes from substance abuse."

And sure enough, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were excited to meet her, which made her wonder what kind of things Sherlock had told them about her. Mycroft sat unimpressed by the end of the table, probably because for years he had tried to keep his little brother off of abuse and it only took three slaps— _strong slaps, mind you_ —from Molly to get his act together.

She couldn't believe Sherlock's parents, too. It was hard to believe that the stoic, unfeeling Holmes grew up with a chatty mum and an adorable, well-mannered dad.

"What a beautiful baby boy you have, dear!"—Mrs. Holmes said, and insisted on taking Will into her arms, and Molly happily obliged. Will was getting bigger in each and every passing day and her skinny arms weren't keeping up. "What's his name?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Holmes. His name's William." Molly sat beside her, sandwiched between Sherlock's parents. She thought Mycroft looked a little off, awfully quiet as he stared at her son critically. With him, it could be a _million_ things, so she decided not to dwell on it.

"William!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, "Just like our Sherlock, then."

Molly was surprised.

All this time Sherlock didn't even care to mention that she had accidentally named her son after him. Before she could comment, Mrs. Holmes sent her husband to retrieve a family album dating thirty years back, because what was a family dinner without embarrassing baby pictures? William bounced happily on her lap, surprisingly comfortable being held by a stranger.

"Maybe it is just me, but William does look a lot like our Sherlock when he was this age. Don't you agree, Mike?"

Mycroft's intense gaze didn't let up, and Molly once again felt like the subject of his deductions. It was alright when Sherlock did it; she was used to him after all. But Mycroft? She didn't know what to make of it. "Curious thing, mother."

"Oh you be nice." She scolded him, and believe it or not, Mycroft _British Government_ Holmes flinched. Mr. Holmes came back to the dining table and sprawled a page of photographs in front of her. Then John gently nudged a champagne glass onto her hand, as well a couple of biscuits on a floral plate.

Her heart fluttered as she studied each one:

Sherlock on a park swing.

Sherlock waist-deep in sand on the beach, Mycroft kneeling beside him and a red-haired dog yapping at his face.

Sherlock all-smiles with a violin pressed to his chest.

Scrawny-looking Mycroft holding a newborn Sherlock in his arms.

Sherlock wearing elf ears beside a nicely decorated tree on Christmas.

It felt like looking through a window of what Sherlock used to be, before he became...well, _Sherlock Holmes the Consulting Detective._ Even Mycroft looked as normal as a normal big brothers would be. _What happened?_

Molly stopped looking, as if she was invading a part of Sherlock's life he clearly didn't want them knowing. But then Mr. Holmes flipped to a page of baby photographs, and eerily enough…he _did_ look like William. Her breath hitched in her throat as he pointed to a particular picture, of a baby Sherlock propped up against a brown leather couch.

The same dark curls.

The same half-smile.

The same eyes… _oh god his eyes_.Could it be? _No, silly!_ Of course, it couldn't be. It was just impossible. It wasn't like Sherlock had his sperm samples at a fertility clinic's disposal. _Or did he?_ Of course not! Then was it possible to " _love"_ someone hard enough to have your unborn child look like them? _You're a medical professional, Molly Hooper. Never say that out loud._

She shook off the ridiculous thoughts and joined in on the tuned out conversation around her.

"Are you sure he's not Sherlock's, dear?" Mr. Holmes prodded after he had pointed out the similarities he could recall from his memory. Molly almost choked on her drink and felt blood rush to her cheeks.

"Oh don't be silly. A gentle young lady like Miss Hooper don't have the patience for our Sherlock." Mrs. Holmes swatted his arm. Everyone else in the room looked uncomfortably at each other. _Oh, you haven't the slightest idea—_ Molly thought.

"Speaking of Sherlock, where on earth is that boy?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sherlock came in just in time for dinner, with a bag of gifts behind him. Mycroft might have said something about silly traditions but Molly didn't hear any of it. It was nearly impossible to focus on other things when he looked so…well for the lack of better word, _hot_ with his hair disheveled and his white shirt carrying a brown crease across the waist. He could be homeless and still look prepared for a red carpet, Molly thought.

He blocked out most of the conversations— _his mother's lecture, mostly_ —and went straight to Lizzie and William on the baby-proofed pen on the corner of his flat. Lizzie immediately jumped up to reach his neck and Will giggled at the mere sight of him. And now that everybody had known of the two's uncanny similarities, they couldn't bring themselves to stop staring. He reached into the canvas bag and handed Lizzie a pink gift bag and she shook it wildly, deducing its contents.

He grabbed Will from under his arms and lightly tossed him into the air, much to the baby boy's delight and the other adults in the room's horror. There was a unified gasp when Will floated in the air for a split second before Sherlock caught him securely with his hands.

"Heavens, Sherlock! You be careful with that boy!" Mrs. Holmes hurried to his side and stole Will away, protective arms around the giggling babe.

Pleased with himself, he turned and faced Molly while everyone started to gather around the festive table. She wore a navy blue dress with a silver belt around her waist and a pair of black pumps, her soft brown hair fanned out on her shoulders and down to her chest. She was smiling sweetly at him, like he hadn't just launched her son into the air.

"Something for Will." Reaching once again into the bag, he gave her a leather-bound, brown book with crisp pages yellowed with age. "My favorite book growing up. You'll read it to him of course."

Molly traced the gold-embossed title, _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ and the bottom text reading _First Edition._ "Oh god…it's a…"

"First edition, yes. It was mine."—Sherlock opened the cover and sure enough, his name was scribbled in careful cursive at the bottom left, _William Sherlock Scott Holmes, 1988._ Then on other parts of the page, written in fading walnut and black ink, _Harrow Leeds, 1933_ then _from the private library of Sir Johanne Gallagher, 1899_ and then the most remarkable of them all, _George Augustus Frederick, 1825._

"—Frederick, that was the King." Her face paled, realizing that what she had in her hand was a book that survived centuries, passed on from one great owner to another. And now it was hers. _No, silly…_ it was Will's.

"Sold it during my time in the university to support my _hobbies._ Glad to know Professor Jacques-Velux still had it in his office. And yes, King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, Ireland and Hanover on the year 1820."

Molly opened her mouth to speak then closed it again, at a loss for words. She couldn't believe he went through all the trouble to retrieve a book he hadn't seen in over a decade so he could give it to William. She brought the pages to her nose, relishing in the distinct smell of old books.

"I love it, Sherlock. I mean…obviously I can't let this thing near Will yet. It's too precious."

He smiled, looking relieved that she found the present lovely.

"Oi, you two!" John called them over, his shirt now stained with different sauces. "Dinner's ready."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So, brother mine, how long have you known?" Mycroft puffed out a cigarette and watched the smoke dissipate in the dark, London sky. The Watsons have gone back to their home, their parents sent back to the lovely hotel Mycroft had for them, and Molly took a cab ride home when she realized she won't survive the subways with a sleeping Will on his arms.

Sherlock eyed him suspiciously, half of a cigarette hanging on his lips. "Pardon?"

Then, Mycroft smirked. The all-knowing, _I'm-the-smart-one_ smirk. "Ah, of course. Well, have fun figuring it out. It won't take long now."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Let me know what you think!

See you next week

x CF


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! Also, I'm sorry if I can only update once a week (twice if I'm really lucky). I have a day job and I don't want to rush the chapters. I try to make this story as happy and light-hearted as it can be, but as I am a naturally sad person, forgive me if it sometimes get dark and twisty, okay?

Let me know what you think!

All mistakes are mine. Forgive me.

x CF

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Molly paced her flat and tried to check everything off of her mental list: Passport, _check._ Plane tickets, _check._ Wallet, _double check._ She'd hate to be broke in a foreign country all by herself. Satisfied that she had everything she needed in her handbag or her purple suitcase, she walked back to the living room and faced the inevitable.

 _God,_ she hated leaving Will. _Why can't the hospital send another?_ She was the best, they told her, and the money was _great_. Molly almost didn't care about the compensation, but she remembered she had a son now; she wasn't just working for herself.

Sherlock stood in her living room, balancing a giggling Will on his hip. "You don't want to hit the road on a rush hour, Molly."

Molly sighed, walking towards the two. "Are you sure about this, Sherlock? You know I can call my mum or my cousins who have families to look after Will. Or uhm…" It had been a surprise when Sherlock readily jumped at the thought of babysitting Will for a few days while she travelled to America. Sherlock Holmes, who seemed like someone who would get as far away as possible from a child, had eagerly agreed to babysit her one-year old son.

He had been full of surprises lately—the presents, the random visits to her flat, the frequent stays in her lab—and Molly wasn't close to complaining. She loved having him around; she _always_ , always have. Plus she saved a ton of money on babysitting when he could do it for free!

Sherlock shook his head, "Your mum is thousands of miles away and if you're referring to your cousin Lowe, he's addicted to weed and his family is struggling because of it, so don't bother."

Her eyes widened, "How did you…I never told…"

"Relax. Heard it on the news, of course. Drug bust in Sussex." Sherlock smirked and pressed a hand over Will's back to keep him from toppling backwards. "We'll be fine. Mary and John are coming over to my flat to see if everything's in their _proper places._ " He rolled his eyes, because how _difficult_ can it be? He was Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective Extraordinaire. Surely, he can handle a one year old. Besides, he had bought a book— _four, if he was being honest—_ that had anything to do with babies, and his mind palace was now fully stocked to the shelves with useful information.

He'll be just _fine._ Why was Molly so worried?

She sighed in resignation. There was only so much she can do to put off leaving London. Molly took a deep breath and nodded, "Okay. You're right. Uhm…see you in a week, then?"

"Yeah, yeah." Sherlock shrugged, and didn't notice as Molly stood on tiptoes so her lips could reach Will's cheek, just in time for Sherlock to face her again. They were _so_ close— _ **8.5 cm**_ _,_ Sherlock had measured as his mind went haywire _—_ he could see the tiny flecks of gold in Molly's eyes, and the way her pupils visibly dilated when hers met his.

Molly smelled of flowers— _ **rose petals and cream**_.

"Oh, uhm…" she backed away hesitantly, but his gaze didn't let up. "…sorry, I was trying to…"

"Of course." Sherlock mumbled, and let Will over to Molly's arms. He tugged on her pristinely combed locks as she smothered him with raspberry kisses she hoped would make up for the time away from him. He giggled and squealed incessantly, loving the attention he was getting, that when Molly pulled away, a small pout appeared on his bowed lips.

"I _hate_ this." She looked up at Sherlock with tears welling in her eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't go. I'll just let them demote me or fire me…I don't care."

Molly expected him to scowl at her logic, or maybe spurt out some lecture about how she should never sacrifice her career, or maybe tell her to box up her emotions and focus on what was more important. But to add to the list of growing surprises Sherlock had been throwing her way, he stepped closer and wiped a tear she didn't realize had slid off her cheek with his thumb, the rest of his long fingers caressing the side of her face with a gentleness she didn't think he had in him.

"You're a remarkable woman, Molly Hooper." His voice sank down to a low bass. "You're very good at what you do and now that you've become a mother, you excel at that, too. I'll be _here._ Rest assured your son will be safe here with me and John and Mary, and all of Mycroft's men if you wish it."

She chuckled at that and felt herself relieved of the guilt. Molly nodded.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Really."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Molly rubbed her fingers in an attempt to keep herself warm in this freezing hell of a clinic. The maintenance man refused to turn the heat up, and Molly fought the urge to climb up the foldable ladder and do it herself. Easy for them to say it wasn't chilly when they had thick, fuzzy sweaters on.

"Miss Hooper? You're up."—the heavy-set woman behind the counter smiled warmly at Molly as she made her way to the familiar office door; a light shade of pink with white diamond decals, and the words _Bertha Lindsey, MD., OB-GYN.,_ etched in black on a gold plate hanging by a chain.

 _Finally,_ she thought. Molly wasn't sure the hospital would reimburse her plane tickets if she missed her flight. Thankfully, her friend slash OB have been able to move a client to make way for her sudden appointment. For _old times' sake,_ Bertha said.

Molly wasn't even sure why she went there. It wasn't like she could simply ask for the information she wanted and walk out the door with it. But she didn't have any other options. Maybe someone like Mycroft Holmes could pull some strings and give her the information she wanted, but asking for his help was out of the question… _obviously._

The inside of the room looked the same, save for a new poster of a dark-haired family on a picnic, a toddler climbing up the dad's neck while the mom looked on cheerfully, cradling a smaller child in her arms. They looked so suspiciously happy even with the sun possibly charring their skin and the prickly glass beneath them.

"Hi Molly! How've you been? How's William? Gosh, he's like one year old now, right?" Bertha looked at her through red-rimmed glasses, her heart-shaped lips painted an alarming shade of red, Sherlock would have a field trip. She and Bertha had gone to medical school together before they went on to their separate careers.

While her friend worked with bringing new life to the world, Molly worked with the dead and the stories that died with them.

"Have you decided on having another baby? You know you can always opt for the same donor."

Molly settled on the plush pink chair and shook her head. "No, no…I…I don't think I'm ready for another kid, yeah."

"Okay then. So, what can I help you with?" She leaned over the desk, her fingers clasped together, nails painted a provocative crimson.

"Actually I came here to ask something. You know…as a friend." Molly nervously tugged on the loose threads of her sweatshirt. Bertha seemed to have caught wind of where the question was going and her smile fell, leaning back against the back of her chair in resignation. "…please, I want to know more about Will's father. Maybe more than just his eye color or...his IQ. I know it's not that easy...but..."

"Oh, Molls." Bertha sighed, clicking a sleek, gold-rimmed pen. "Molly, I can't do that. You know I'll be breaking a lot of patient confidentiality laws. I'm sorry, sweetie."

Molly sighed. She knew this would happen yet still she came. If only there was one way to discredit the chance of Sherlock being the father to her son, even if she didn't find out who the real dad was.

 _Would it really be such a bad idea for Sherlock to be the dad?_ Maybe not.

 _Isn't that what you've always wanted?_ No! Not like this, anyway.

 _Maybe Sherlock wouldn't mind. He loves the kid, that's obvious._ For sure. Sherlock would have never agreed to be left alone with Will if he wasn't the least bit attached to the little man.

 _But of course, maybe he does mind. Why do you think he doesn't have a family of his own? Why do you think he's sworn off all attempts at a relationship?_ Molly also knew he was a lone wolf. She knew he wasn't someone who\d sacrifice even a part of his work for a family. The Sherlock she knew faked a proposal to get into someone's office.

 _That was ages ago, Molly—_ the voice nagged at her. _He's a changed man._

But still.

With a heavy breath, she ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed circles on her throbbing temple. "Yeah, I know Berth. It's just…I don't know, really…uhm, can I ask you something though? You won't be breaking any laws, I promise."

"Okay, sure. What is it?"

"You…know who Will's dad, right?"

Bertha shrugged, "Right now, I don't. But if I wanted to, I suppose I could find out. See, everything is a jumble of letters and numbers written on the donor files. Personally, I don't like finding out more about who picked who. Especially if it's a friend of mine. That's just a bit…unfair, I guess."

Molly couldn't remember the rest of the things her friend said on her way out of the medical complex, dragging the heavy suitcase behind her. It had been some time since the Christmas dinner at Sherlock's flat, yet the sinking feeling in her gut hasn't left her. She tried waving it off, telling herself that it was just _not_ possible. But then again, she dated UK's most feared criminal James Moriarty and that should have been impossible. Not a lot of people can relate to that, and yet it happened to her.

Her little theory didn't seem too impossible after all.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So I hear Sherlock's taking William to _Tumble Tots_ on Friday." Mary said to John as she made their morning coffee. Two sugars for her cup, and none for John. How he could stand the bitterness, she could never understand. John looked up from the papers and eyed her curiously.

"What, the day-care?" Mary nodded at his direction. "Uh…why?"

."Oh, Molly has to go to this summit in America for a week and the appointment list is supposed to be tight. Molly wanted Will to go there in the fall." She said to him, sliding the cup and saucer towards John's spot on the small round table. "Lovely little prep school, John. Tall trees, lots of shade, and wonderful playground for the kids."

John didn't look happy with her answer, though. "Yes, of course. But why _him_ though? I'm sure Molly has lots of other friends. You, for example?"—he was certainly amused. It was baffling how easy Sherlock had become so involved in the little boy's life. Although his friend won't admit it, John knew he'd been spending more time doing mundane experiments at Bart's this past year so he could be around the kid more often.

"He does look a _lot_ like him now, don't you think?" Mary raised her eyebrows, and John snorted. "I'm serious, John!"

"Not this again, Mary." He chuckled, looking back to a conversation he had with Mary a few months back. It was around Christmas, he thought, when his wife first talked about the possibility of Sherlock Holmes being William's biological father.

"It was a sperm donor…who happens to have a lot of similarities with Sherlock. He's not exactly a unique specimen, you know. That's just…impossible. Crazy."

Mary rolled her eyes and looked to the distance. "Oh come on. Surely we know of more _impossible_ odds." John knew this to be her _planning_ face. "With Sherlock, who knows what kind of silly things he's done. Like maybe… _donate_ his boys to a fertility clinic."—John grimaced, urging her to stop. "You know, I am still in contact with people who could run a DNA test in a day."

"God, no!" John nearly choked on his drink. "That's taking it _too far_."

"Relax, John. I'm not actually going to do it." Mary scoffed up a laugh and took out the toast. "Not personally, I mean I know a _lot_ of things, but a DNA test isn't one of them."

His wife had no limits, John concluded. Just then, his mobile buzzed.

 _ **At Baker Street.**_

 _ **Come at once.**_

 _ **-SH**_

 _Case?—_ John replied. He didn't know why Sherlock kept adding his initials at the end of his texts. Haven't he heard of the magical contact list that told you who you were texting?

 _ **No. Need to know if preparations for Will are adequate.**_

 _ **-SH**_

 _What?—_ John looked up at Mary now. "Will's in Sherlock's flat."

"A little dad and son bonding, eh?" Mary teased, folding the dry towels and stacked them on a neat pile in an overhead cupboard.

 _Be there in ten.—_ he sighed. "I'm just going to...check on him. Be back in a jiffy, yeah?"

Mary kissed him goodbye, "Well don't stay long. Sherlock needs to know his protégé more, you know."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

John couldn't believe the text Sherlock had sent him that afternoon. He had asked him to come to Baker Street and see if his preparations for Will's stay have been adequate. Why on earth was Sherlock prepping his flat for Will? At first he thought it would be for a playdate with Lizzie he wasn't told, being the only logical explanation to come to mind. What he didn't expect was a ton of baby bags littered on the living room, Will peacefully dozing off on Sherlock, also fast asleep on the leather chair.

It was a pretty sight, with Will plopped chest-down on Sherlock's chest, his brown curls fanned out on his blue shirt. He seemed content, clutching the collar of Sherlock's suit jacket and a blue pacifier hanging loose in his mouth. Over the months he had begun to look a little like Molly, but only when he smiled. All other times, Will _did_ look a lot like Sherlock, and it had become an uncanny resemblance everyone had learned to accept without question.

Because what could _possibly_ be the odds, right?

Pretty as it was to look at, John wondered why Sherlock was left alone with a small child.

Then... _oh. What has he done this time?_

He wanted to shout at him, but then there was the matter of Will sound asleep, so John walked over to Sherlock and poked his shoulder. "Hey, wake up."

Sherlock, always the light-sleeper, jerked awake. "Oh! Hello, John." He said in a low whisper, expertly maneuvering on his seat without disturbing the sleeping tot in his arms. "I see you've deduced my situation."

John looked around to see if Molly was there, but clearly, she wasn't. She wouldn't have left their things lie around the living room where Mrs. Hudson could trip. "Please don't tell me you've kidnapped him from his mum? Because I'm a terrible liar and I won't be able to defend you in court."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be daft, John. I'm babysitting." He walked over to the blue and white cot John hadn't noticed before, and gently placed Will down. Thank goodness he had stopped crying for Molly. Sherlock wasn't sure he could handle an inconsolable toddler wailing in the middle of the night.

"You're what?" He crossed his arms.

"Ba—by—sit—ting, John. It's when you…"

"I know what that means, you insufferable git." John decided to make himself useful and picked up the clutter from the floor, setting them aside in a neat pile by the fireplace. There was a stack of parenting books on the mantelpiece, with little book markers sticking out of some of the pages. Molly's, _probably._

"Why is he with you? Where's Molly?"

"Oh, on a plane to New York as we speak. Won't be back till Tuesday."

John's eyes widened, "Tuesday? That's a week! Bloody _hell,_ Sherlock. How are you supposed to look after him for a week? You don't know a thing about children." Sherlock's face fell in an instant.

That's when John realized this was more than a social experiment. He really did care for Will, and he cared for Molly too, like how Sherlock cared for all his friends.

"Of course I do." Sherlock straightened his suit and walked past John, "I've watched you and Mary, and I've watched Molly. And in case you haven't realized it yet, I can do most anything in less than a day. Hours, if I wasn't distracted."

John sighed. There was no point trying to argue with a hyped up Sherlock. Instead of starting a fight, he proceeded as he thought fit. "Okay. I take that back, I'm sorry. But if you need our help, we'll gladly take Will off of you." Sherlock looked at him curiously, "You know…you have all these cases, and the clients. Can't have a baby running around while you do your job, right? Or we can hire a sitter. Ours is fantastic with kids his age. I can give you her number..."

He grunted and shook his head, "No thanks, John. I'd rather look after him myself than leave him in the hands of a sixteen year-old. Besides, I didn't ask you here to take Will away." Sherlock walked over to the brand-new dock for his phone and turned up some classical music. _Beethoven,_ John realized.

"Classical?"

"Yes. It's supposed to be stimulating for little children." Sherlock looked away, seemingly shy at having been busted with the amount of preparation he'd done.

John nodded, and took the time to look around the flat. Sherlock— _or Mrs. Hudson, more realistically_ —had dusted the place. There were fresh, clean sheets draped over the long couch and even his and Sherlock's chairs, because _god_ knows when they last had a wash-down. In the kitchen lay stacks of groceries, actual edible materials appropriate for a one-year old. Stuffed toys piled neatly above the fireplace, giving the usually grim and gloomy flat some much needed color.

He was wrong. Maybe Sherlock knew a thing or two about children.

"Everything seems right." John cleared his throat and thought about what Mary said. Sherlock didn't need any help, it seemed. "...okay uhm...if you need anything, anything at all, call us, okay?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

So, there goes! Hope you liked it. I made the chapter longer to make up for the late updates. Hope that didn't seem too much, though? Let me know what you think! Please, please leave your reviews at my door. Haha, kidding. The little review box will do just fine.

See you next week!


	5. Chapter 5

More fluff!

Let me know if you have any requests for snippets I should put in here. Anyways, some papers from the internet say that Sherlock IV is bound to air later this year rather than on January of 2017. I honestly don't know what to feeeeeeeel. I want to watch it already but also, I kind of want to wait till next year, just because. XD

Review, pretty please? Constructive criticisms welcome!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

" _No experiments! Semi-colon, open parenthesis. X Molly_ "—Sherlock read from a small pink note Molly had tucked into Will's storybook. It fell out of the pages when he unpacked Will's belongings, and now the note rested in between his fingers, the corner of his lips twitching to form a hint of a smile as he read it to himself. "It's a winking face, Will! Look."

"…sssshhhh…la…!" Will babbled incoherently back at him, currently amused by the purple elephant he seemed to favor among others. "…ssh…la…"

Sherlock groaned, wishing Will was already old enough to form conversations with him. He _adored_ him as a baby, but he couldn't stop thinking about all the fun they'd have once Will was a bit older. All the field trips and the _child-friendly_ cases, the lessons on scientific deduction. Sherlock imagined him as a highly intelligent, clever little boy home from his first day in grade school, telling him stories about his mediocre school friends and how the educational system was one-sided and caste-forming.

Then he stopped himself short.

Poring over the possibility of a future, years from now, baffled him. Sherlock had been forming scenarios which would only be conceivable if he had a permanent place in Will's life, and more importantly, Molly's life. Sure, he got to spend all the time in the world with the kid _now_ , but things were bound to change _when_ Molly married, and despite her current hopelessness in the romance area, Sherlock knew she was going to marry. Someday, someone will meet Molly and see the things he already saw, and someone will love her enough to give the life she truly deserved.

Sherlock frowned. _Sentiment._

The sound of a pair of sandals' pitter patter on the stairs brought him back from his thoughts. Thankfully Will hadn't fallen off the couch in the time his mind had wandered off.

 _Should pay more attention—_ he noted.

The footsteps were soon followed by the sweet scent of tea wafting in the air.

 _Ah, Mrs. Hudson._ He glanced at the "vintage" wall clock he got from his mother for Christmas, 3:40. _Right on schedule._

"Oh, Sherlock…you should really let the sunlight in here sometimes. It's a _wonderful_ day outside!" Mrs. Hudson beamed, bringing up a tray of tea and biscuits. The sight of the two elicited a long _'awwwww'_ , with Sherlock sitting cross-legged on the couch and Will propped up against his shoulder, just as content as his current babysitter's choice of telly— _a documentary about the Bletchley Radio Factory back in the 40's_ —while still in their pajamas. "I wish I had a camera with me…you two are quite the pair! Molly would love to see, I'm sure…"

And they were. Sherlock looked up at her with a smirk, proud that he had kept another human being alive for three days without incident. Although he must admit he should give Will some of the credit. Will wasn't a difficult child by nature, compliant and content, something Molly passed on to him, _probably._

Over the past few days, Sherlock found himself adjusting well to this new routine. Every morning, he took Will out to the porch for a sun bath. At precisely 7:30, he made and fed him his breakfast—mashed potatoes or pumpkin soup, and a few slices of fruit. Sherlock bathed him— _quite expertly, thanks to the wide array of Youtube videos at his disposal_ —in his tub, washing the little boy's curly locks off of grime— _something he had plenty of experience with—_ and recited the periodic table of elements in order of families while he slipped Will into a pair of comfortable clothes.

Sherlock calculated that by the time Will was three, he'd have been very familiar with the Fundamentals of Chemistry.

Mornings were for _stimulating_ activities like reading, as well as painting with the non-toxic finger paints he bought from the craft store. The afternoons were for playing with Elizabeth Watson who had been promised to come by every day after her parents finished with work, and evenings were for the _ridiculous_ Disney movies Molly insisted they watched and bedtime stories read from the _Big Book of Tales for Little Princes._ Sherlock couldn't see what the fuss was about, but Will seemed to like it so much.

Mrs. Hudson set the tray on the side table, cooing ramblingly at Will as she did.

"Elephant biscuits?" He quirked a brow, looking at the oddly shaped treats on the matching floral plate. There were tigers, turtles and bears, too.

"It's for the little prince, Sherlock. Safe for growing tummies, I assure you." She tapped his shoulder and went on to open the curtains, making way for the harsh, yellow light to break into the gloomy flat. "A great day for a trip down the park, don't you think? Lots of children there too, I suppose."

Sherlock sighed. Nothing like Mrs. Hudson _trying_ to be subtle. "It's going to rain, Mrs. Hudson." He didn't need to watch the forecast to know that, "…and artificial food coloring is _never_ good for tummies, growing or otherwise. Will _hates_ biscuits anyway." He groaned, checking ever so often that Will was still comfortable beside him, and gave him back his stuffed toy when it fell out of reach.

Instead of feeling insulted by Sherlock's sharp remarks, Mrs. Hudson smiled.

Sherlock Holmes had never cared about someone like _this_ before. Sure, he cared about her. She would never forget the one and hopefully, the only time he threw out a man outside his window because the man harmed her. He cared about John, _obviously_. He cared about Mary and Elizabeth, and he cared about his brother, Mycroft. He cared deeply about Molly Hooper, too.

But not in the way Sherlock cared for William Hooper. Sherlock cared about him like a father would to his child. It was almost like… _no, silly. That can't be.—_ Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "Well, if you say so. They're good biscuits, though. My wonderful niece got it from well…Nice."

Sherlock picked up a piece in between his thumb and forefinger— _a pink rhino—_ and took a tentative bite. Mrs. Hudson wasn't exaggerating. "Hmm. They are." He took another, then another. "Thank you."

Mrs. Hudson patted him on the head— _much to his dismay—_ and went on her merry way. Everyone have been given a task while Will was under Sherlock's care. John and Mary were to make sure their friend was doing all the right things, which Sherlock have. Elizabeth, the cute little tyke, was to keep Will in company with a kid his age. It was up to Mrs. Hudson to check in on the two every now and then, just in case Sherlock decided to do an experiment involving Will, which he hasn't… _thankfully._

As she made her slow descent down the stairs, she wondered why everyone had been so worried about the arrangement. Molly didn't seem to mind…and Sherlock was doing exceptionally well.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Molly let her eyes wander to the majestic foyer of the five hundred year-old Crest Talbot Memorial Hall. All the years of being a pathologist at St. Bart had lent her plenty of opportunities to be in pretty interesting places, but none had taken her breath away like this. She felt like a child all over again, marveling at the remarkable paintings sprawled across the old ceilings, the thick columns carved with flourishes, and the centuries-old ivory statues of what she thought were greek gods and goddesses lining up the long gallery.

It was overwhelming, just merely being there. And it didn't help that she was all alone.

"Hi!" A giddy teenager, most likely an intern, greeted her on the receiving counter. She wore a figure-hugging black dress and had a bright neon lanyard around her neck that said 'World Pathology Summit'. "I'm Gracey, welcome to Crest!"

Molly smiled and gave her the brochure slash ticket into the convention. "Molly Hooper."

"Okay…" She nodded and tapped on the keys of her computer simultaneously, "…from?"

"Oh, uhm…St. Bartholomew Hospital, London. Under Mike Stamford. He was supposed to attend but…"

A wide smile appeared on the young girl's face as a sudden wave of realization hit her. "Oh, gee! Gosh, of course!" She squealed like a school girl— _well, technically she was a school girl—_ "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just that I've read about ya."

Molly blushed, thinking about the long, tedious nights spent under a desk lamp just to finish her papers. It was nice to know the jugs of coffee she had metaphorically drowned herself in were appreciated and haven't been all for naught.

"What's it like?" She leaned over the counter with eager eyes.

"Well…it hasn't been easy. But uhm…I've managed quite a lot of…"

"How can you focus on your work when you have Mr. _HotStuff_ walking around the workplace?" Gracey cut her off, _which is very rude of you, Gracey._ Molly pursed her lips. "I have this hot, hot classmate in French and man, I _can't_ seem to think of anything else when he's around. But being in the same room as Sherlock Holmes? That can't be easy."

"Oh, uhm… _oh_." She nodded in understanding. _Of course_ Sherlock's ghost will follow her across the atlantic. What else is there? "Right uh, yes it's not easy."—she smiled, _because he drags you to crime scenes and asks for body parts at the most inconvenient of times._ "He's a handful...yes."— _but also, he's babysitting my one year-old so he can ask as many body parts as he would like._ "He's left with the baby in London…"

"You're married?!"—Gracey gaped.

Molly's eyes widened in horror, " _God,_ no! I'm sorry…I shouldn't have phrased it like that…well, uhm, he's left with _my_ baby in London. He's babysitting." Before she knew it, Molly was fishing for her phone in her purse and showing the giddy receptionist her lock screen photograph. What, for proof? Unfortunately, it was a picture of Will wearing a black and yellow striped onesie, held up on her kitchen counter by Sherlock, smiling thoughtfully at the baby boy at an arm's distance.

He had no idea Molly included him in the picture, which rendered the shot _priceless_. She wished he had more moments like that…unguarded and carefree even just for a blink of an eye.

Gracey looked at her screen, "Ooh, one night stand gone wrong?" When she saw Molly shift uncomfortably in her place, Gracey waved her off. "Sorry, anthropology major. We pride on finding out who's related to who based on genetic structure. It's a long-running game in the department…but any- _hoo_ , don't mind me. I'm not very good at it…"

Sensing the growing awkwardness of the situation, Gracey hurriedly gave Molly a small, microscope brooch made out of silver and rubies— _something she should have done right away—_ and pointed to the group of people close to the podium. "Have a nice day, Dr. Hooper!"

It was impossible not to think about it now. For the rest of her stay she would be tainted with the nagging thoughts inside her head, wondering if life had decided to play a game on her and made her _unknowingly_ have a son with Sherlock. Evidence were stacking up right before her eyes…and not it seemed wrong to ignore the signs.

 _Okay, I'll ask him—_ she said to herself as she joined the sea of people gathered around the snack bar. _Just ask him if he, by any chance, had donated sperm in the past. Right…easy!_ Molly took a deep breath, already dreading the days to come. _How the hell am I going to ask Sherlock Holmes that?!_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So it's true then."

Sherlock jumped in start as Mycroft spoke, leaning against the door frame with his ever-present umbrella at his side. How did he not hear his brother come in? Sherlock always knew. He used to be able to tell it was Mycroft by lack of knocking, and the evenly spaced out, calculated steps up his flat. He was distracted…that's for sure. But he found himself agreeing to the distraction. In fact, he welcomed it.

"Mycroft." He grunted in acknowledgement, giving his attention back to Will.

"I could have robbed you of your _secret stash_ and you'd be none the wiser." Mycroft crossed the living room and seated himself on the brown chair opposite Sherlock, not counting on his brother's hospitality to invite him in. "Hello, _William._ "

Will perked up at the sound of his name and jumped ecstatically on Sherlock's lap. "There's no more secret stash, Mycroft. Don't be daft."

"Right…" Mycroft grimaced, "Because you're a _changed_ man." He eyed Will curiously, affirming the theories in his head. _Clear as day_. He understood how the others had been so unobservant. Ordinary people have always been. But it was his brother's cluelessness that took him back, when it took Mycroft all of thirty seconds to know the truth of Dr. Hooper's son's paternal origins. "You've been busy."

Sherlock shrugged, "Childminding is tedious work; not that you'd understand."

Mycroft smirked. "And _you_ do? Four days with the child and you call yourself an expert…"

"Here to question my capabilities, are we?" Sherlock held Will by the waist as the little boy continued to use his lap as some sort of trampoline, brown curls bobbing up and down as he squealed at the top of his lungs in glee. The shrill sound made Mycroft wince in his seat, much to Sherlock's delight. He got up on his feet and made his way to the kitchen. "Well…it's time for William's afternoon snack. Care to join us? Though I'm sure Will prefers it if you didn't…"

"Here for a case. You need one, Sherlock. You've been cooped up in this stink-hole you call a flat for too long." Mycroft followed his steps and sniffed the air, no doubt catching the inevitable smell of baby cologne, urine and fabric conditioner mixed together. "…girl you went to uni with is asking for your assistance. Remember Brielle Amberley?"

Sherlock groaned in response, reaching for a small pack of mandarin slices in his fridge while he balanced Will on his hip. _No body parts,_ his mother would be immensely proud. "No. Must have deleted it from _the_ hard drive."

Mycroft chuckled as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. Sherlock Holmes, his stoic baby brother, was feeding a toddler with fruit slices. Hard to believe it was the same Sherlock who decided long ago that children were boring and icky and helpless. Hilarious how he'd sworn off women for as long as Mycroft could remember, and yet Sherlock finds himself in an odd situation where he has a son.

Just how long until his clouded mind clears and sees the reality of it, Mycroft wasn't sure. Logic and calculation, and all things he and his brother held dear were a bit blurry where emotions were involved.

"You deleted a _lot_ of things, so it seems."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sherlock set his phone against a coffee mug and sat in front of it. He glanced at the clock— _7:55_ —and calculated that it should be around 2 in the afternoon where Molly was. Will crawled towards him and wobbly propped himself up on his lap, waiting to be picked up. At the pace Will was learning how to walk, Sherlock feared Molly might miss the chance to see his first, unattended steps. _Just a little longer, Will—_ he told the little boy once when he tried to take one step forward and fell face first on the cushioned play mat. _Just until your mum gets back._

"C'mere you." Sherlock lifted Will up by the armpits, and the scent of his watermelon shampoo, body wash and baby cologne filled his nostrils. He realized he _loved_ the fruity scent it gave his whole flat. The aggressive, pungent smells of chemicals and alcohol and cigarette smoke will not be missed. "Mummy's going to be on any minute now."

His phone buzzed to life, alerting him of a video call on Skype. Sherlock reached out his finger and pressed the green telephone button on his screen.

"Will!" Molly squealed almost immediately. "Oh gosh, you've grown! I'm sorry...is that…is that possible, at all? Gosh, I miss you sweetie."

Sherlock found himself smiling— _genuinely—_ as his heart warmed at the sight of her. She looked like she was in a coffee shop, with large bookshelves, arc lamps and tall windows lining the brick walls. Her lips were a light shade of pink and her cheeks were flushed from the heat. Her brown hair bundled up in a loose bun with stray locks framing the side of her face. She never wore her hair like that in London.

 _Lovely—_ the word floated above her head.

It seemed like Will wasn't the only one who missed Molly Hooper, and the realization hit him hard. _Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock—_ Mycroft's voice boomed inside his head, and for the first time in a long time, he chose not to listen. _Bugger off, Mycroft._

"You've been gone four days, Molly, so no, that's highly unlikely."

"Humor me, will you?"—she teased. Will extended his pudgy arms to Sherlock's phone to touch Molly's face, and when he found that he couldn't, his curved lips began to pout, the early warning signs of a full-forced sob.

"Oh, no, no, no, sweetie!" She tried to ease him out of the cries, but there was only so much you can do in a video call. "It's alright, mum's going to be back in two days, I promise."—if only she could hug Will and wipe the tears off his rosy cheeks, and sway him in her arms, and a lot of other things. She _hated_ being away.

To her surprise, Sherlock went on to do the very things she wanted to do without being told.

"It's alright, William."—Sherlock took him close to his chest and let Will nuzzle his head against his neck. Then he rubbed soft circles on her son's back— _quite gently, Molly noticed—_ effectively stopping the waterworks. He planted soft kisses on the top of his curly head, and gently rocked him back and forth. "Ssh, it's alright."

He got lost in the moment, his attention fully on Will.

And that, Molly decided, was the _cutest_ thing Sherlock Holmes can do.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

What did you think of that? Let me know!

I just wanted to hold onto the bliss of not knowing for a little longer. But I promise things will fall into place in the following chapters. See you next week!


	6. Chapter 6

John peered into Sherlock's bedroom, holding a rarely calm Lizzie up against his hip. She seemed content snuggling against her daddy's neck, her small hands clutching _Dr. Detective,_ a fuzzy pink teddy with a stethoscope around its neck and a magnifying glass sewn onto its hand. It was a custom-made present courtesy of Mrs. Hudson's tailoring skills. Sherlock was standing before his unmade bed, contemplating between the plaid shirt and baby blue jumper in which he will change Will with. "—said your goodbyes yet?"—John asked.

Sherlock looked his way, "Goodbye?"

"Molly's flight back is today, right? Can't keep Will here forever."

"Oh." Sherlock nodded, the gravity of today's laid out events weighing down on him. He couldn't keep Will forever. _Yes, indeed._ Tonight his flat will be devoid of all plushy toys and feeding bottle sterilizers, tiny shirts and bottles of fruity toiletries. Tomorrow he won't be woken up at the crack of dawn to ease Will out of a wet diaper. No more sitting through a ridiculous kids' show on the television. No more fun-shaped biscuits— _unless Mrs. Hudson insists on feeding the grown-ups that—_ and no more piss-stained shirts.

Sherlock looked down on Will, his wild smile reminding him briefly of Molly. He reached out his chubby arms up at Sherlock, asking to be picked up. He couldn't help but beam back. _How_ was it possible to miss someone that's right in front of you?

"Daddy…aw we weavin'?" Lizzie mumbled into his father's ear sweetly, her blonde curls obscuring the better part of her face. "…am weally hungwy."

"Yes, hun. In a bit…Sherlock, you alright, mate?"

He nodded and bottled up what remained of his emotions and shoved them at the back of his head. "Yes. All right." Then he succumbed to Will's wishes, lifted him up and held him as close as humanly possible.

"Okay, we'll wait by the living room then?" John didn't wait for an answer before leaving Sherlock's door. "Don't take too long, the tour's going to be in forty five minutes and we don't want to be late for that." Look how _far_ they've come. Chasing deadlines for a daycare center instead of chasing criminals, planning brunch dates with babies instead of _faking deaths._

"Yes." He replied as he motioned to a drawer in his closet that was now filled to the brim with William's stuff, and told himself to remember to pack everything before the day ends. He grabbed a blue pair of shoes printed with playful monsters chasing each other on a wide, green area and put them on Will's feet.

"Your mother's coming home today, William." He said a bit too somberly than he intended. Will squealed at the mention of his mom, flailing his arms frantically at nothing. " _Thrilled,_ are we?" Sherlock sighed. For some reason he didn't want Molly back. _Not yet, anyway._ The week had flown too fast and he still wanted the boy all to himself.

But another part of him wanted to see Molly again. It had been all of seven days but without her in the lab meant he was also locked out of the lab, and despite what Sherlock always told himself, he _did_ miss her company. She was one of the very few people who could keep a conversation with him, _that's all._

He needed her for _obvious_ reasons.

Like for… _science._

"Time for you to leave me." He planted a feather kiss on Will's forehead. He calculated that if Molly's flight had been without delay, she would be back in London by mid-afternoon, and then just before dinner, Will will be out of his hair.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Molly stood at the side of the pavement and breathed in the sweet, sweet scent of _home._ One long week in New York proved to be hellish, and she wouldn't consider going back to the dreadful city anytime soon. Sure, it had its _many_ perks—breathtaking view from her hotel room that afforded a bit of the Empire State Building, the food so sinfully delicious Molly didn't think she'd had so much calories in one sitting. _Okay, fine._ New York was lovely. But it wasn't London; it wasn't home, and maybe she'd loved it more if she had her friends or family with her.

But finally, _finally,_ she was back.

"Molly Hooper?" Molly turned to the direction of the voice, and saw a tall, lean woman dressed in gray, figure-hugging blouse and pencil skirt. A black car pulled up in front of them, and immediately she felt her stomach churn.

 _Quick thinking, Molly._ "Sorry…wrong person." The woman didn't buy it. _Of course._ Molly started to walk away, only to have the mystery car follow her steps. _Oh god._ She fished out her phone from her coat pocket, trembling as she felt a cold sweat run down her cheek.

"Miss Hooper." The woman trailed behind her, her voice calm and put-together like she had done this many times before. _Of course, she has! Probably worked for a criminal mastermind Sherlock pissed off._ Molly walked faster, knowing full well that if she tried to run, it wouldn't be of any use. Unless she left her luggage and darted off to the crowded park, she wouldn't get too far.

Out of options, Molly stopped and turned to face the woman. " _Please_ …whatever Sherlock's done this time…please…I have a son and he's waiting for me…"—she pleaded, on the verge of tears.

"My employer only wishes to speak to you privately." The woman went to the car and opened the door for her.

With a shaky sigh, Molly obliged and watched as the driver stepped out his seat to load her bags onto the boot of the car. She slid into the luxurious seats, holding her phone in a vice grip. _Call Sherlock, he'll help you—_ her mind told her. But she feared she would only provoke the situation if she cried for help.

The woman joined her in the back seat and crossed her legs, typing away at the sleek smartphone. She looked _very_ calm indeed, and she was the sort of woman the magazines hired to pose for their covers. Tall and tanned with perfectly symmetrical features.

"W-where are we going?" Molly dared ask.

" _Harmony Cakes,_ just around the corner." She replied with a tailored smile.

She didn't know where that was, but she nodded anyway. The place didn't sound scary or _evil_ at all. "Oh, okay." The car was tinted from the inside as well, doing _great_ favors for her tendency to be claustrophobic. "…uh, what's your name? Sorry…it's just that…sorry…I'm terrified…just…forget I asked…"

"Anthea." She answered without looking away from the dim-lit screen.

"Anthea…"—Molly mouthed the words. _Lovely name._ She was sure she'd heard it before.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Welcome to Tumble Tots!" _Ynez,_ Sherlock read from the nameplate, greeted them with a forced smile as they entered the lobby. He couldn't blame her; she was obviously working three jobs and has greeted what was probably the hundredth person to walk into the door. Instead he offered a charming smile— _it worked, always—_ because Mary told it would increase Will's chances of getting into the school.

 _Aren't people superficial?_

His mind's devices went haywire as he looked around the pastel-colored walls and cream couches brimming with giddy parents and their toddlers while John did most of the introduction.

Sherlock didn't see why Molly wanted to send him here. He'd read the brochures and scoured references about the place, and there was nothing in this place that Will can't learn in his flat or his mother's laboratory. When he voiced this concern to John, he said it was something to do with growing up like the rest, and a shot at normalcy— _something Will won't get if he was homeschooled at Baker Street or St. Bart's—_ Sherlock agreed.

"Oh, what a lovely son you have, sir." She smiled widely, gawking at the dinosaur embroidery on Will's shirt with a speech bubble that said 'RAWR IS I LOVE YOU IN DINOSAUR'.

"Not my son." Sherlock told her. _Fifty seven times_ some stranger had assumed that William was his. "I'm only babysitting for a friend."

"Oh, apologies." There goes the fake smile again. Sherlock had to applaud her ability to keep a cool front despite the obvious exhaustion. One job as a teacher— _marker dust on palm, erases the board with her hand_ —one job as a sales clerk at a perfumery— _too many hints of perfumes coming off of one person_ —and then this job. _Three teenagers and one infant, alcoholic husband, sick mother, no…sister. Breadwinner._ "Names, please?"

"John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. The reservation for the facility tour should be under Molly Hooper, the little guy's mum." John said.

"Okay, this is little William, then?" She nodded and pushed an application form toward John, along with a company pen. "Just fill this up and wait there, thanks."—she pointed to a long line of parents seated on plush couches. Sherlock grunted, looking at hours of small talk. _Be friendly—_ Mary had told him the night before.

"Right, so…" John turned to face Sherlock, struggling to keep Elizabeth in his arms and writing legibly on the document. "Mind taking Lizzie for a minute?"

Sherlock shrugged and offered the other arm not holding Will and scooped up Lizzie from under John's hold. She snuggled up close, her face almost pressing against the nape of his neck in an attempt to be cozy, her small arm draped over his neck. "Getting bigger every day, Elizabeth. _Please_ don't grow up too fast." He said, planting a small kiss on the top of his head.

Will didn't appreciate the shared attention and reached his hand out, batting Lizzie's hand away from Sherlock's neck. "A bit possessive, I see."—Sherlock let out a small laugh in spite of the brewing slap fight from right under his nose.

The tour proved to be _dull, dull,_ _ **dull**_ _._ Sherlock couldn't bring himself to listen to a forty year-old adulterer who was doing the young clerk manning the play pens. Besides, all his suspicious were correct; it was a school not worthy of Molly's praise. Clearly, whoever recommended the facility had a referral fee or wanted Molly to experience the misery of having a child go here. The rooms were in dire need of fresh paint, and the swing sets he saw on the way in were positively a tetanus risk, and the employees were snob and unqualified to look after toddlers of Will and Lizzie's age.

So Sherlock had stopped listening after the first five minutes.

 _Coffee shop right around the corner of the airport._

 _You know the one._

 _Come at once._

 _MH_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _**A bit engaged for the moment. –SH**_

 _Trust me, it's worth leaving._

 _MH_

 _ **Case? Won't come over for less than an eight. –SH**_

 _A case…of some sort._

 _A ten._

 _MH_

"John, we're leaving." He said, catching a few of the parents' attention.

"What? We're not nearly done yet. There's a library and a…" John whispered back, trying so hard not to distract the tour guide in his spit-fire speeches about the facilities. "And I don't think Molly will appreciate it if you bailed on her appointment."

 _Bring the child, if necessary._

 _MH_

Sherlock shrugged and put his phone back to his coat pocket. "Stay if you wish. William and I have somewhere to be." He pushed through the crowd and left John to his own devices. So what if Will didn't get in. He deserved so much better anyway.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Ah, good to _finally_ grace us with your presence, Sherlock." Mycroft greeted him as soon as he pushed open the dainty white door to the cake shop. There were infographics about cupcakes and coffee blends pasted alongside menus, and though the place was empty, it still reeked of a sugar and coffee beans. Of course Mycroft paid the shop to close for their little meeting. He was always dramatic like that. He spotted Mycroft on the far-most corner booth, a sneer tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, don't be shy. Come a bit closer."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and adjusted the large baby bag on his shoulder. Will couldn't keep still in his arms, eyes darting back and forth to the colorful paintings nailed to the pastel walls. "Whatever it is, Mycroft, I'm sure it can wait. As you can see, I am a bit busy… _oh._ Molly?!"

Molly's eyes lit up at the sight of him— _no, at the sight of Will—_ and held her arms out. "Hi, sweetie!"—she cooed, and the boy squealed at the top of his lungs upon seeing his mum after a long week. Sherlock stood frozen in place as he watched the two reunite, not expecting the flutter of warmth that spread in his stomach upon gazing at them. Motherhood did suit Molly well; her cheeks were full of color, she had been working herself less and less, and she has long stopped losing so much weight— _which was a good thing, contrary to what Molly believed._ Sherlock had never seen Molly Hooper so happy.

Well, William seemed to have that effect on people.

She looked up at him with doe eyes, "Sherlock, I can't… _possibly_ thank you enough."

"It's my pleasure." He smiled back, and when she tried to question that, Sherlock said, "No, I mean it. It's been a pleasure."

Molly's eyes softened, and she nodded. Mycroft cleared his throat then, breaking their happy little bubble. "Be seated, Sherlock. Now that both of you are finally here, we can begin."

"I—I still don't know why you've kidnapped me." Molly said, holding Will by the armpits so he could stand on her lap. "Which was unnecessary, I think. You could have just…I don't know…called me?"

Sherlock sighed and slid into the pink upholstery beside Molly, "That's Mycroft for you, Molly. Get used to it."

Mycroft smirked, "That's true. I'm afraid you'll have to get used to that, Dcotor Hooper. I do believe we'll be seeing more of each other in the future. Inevitable." He snapped his fingers into the air and Anthea walked toward them, holding two white folders against her chest. One folder Sherlock recognized by its logo. Though the memory had been buried in the deepest pits of his mind, he was now certain he'd seen it before. Anthea placed the files on the table, and walked away the way she came in.

"What's this?" Molly's face blanched as she saw the fertility clinic's stamp on the folder. The idea that Mycroft Holmes, the _British Government_ , was concerned about her private affairs was unsettling, and a bit…disconcerting. She wanted to know just _how_ he obtained the documents but thought better of it. So she decided to focus on the _why_ of it all. "W-Why do you have my file, Mr. Holmes?"

"It's not your file, Doctor Hooper." Mycroft said. Sherlock scowled, the gears in his mind going full throttle. _Eight years ago. The beginnings of a drug addiction. Timothy Marks. Glastonbury Fertility Clinic._ He knew full well what everything was all about. It was the believing part that was taking a bit long to process. "Sherlock, would you like to tell Doctor Hooper? Or should I?"

Sherlock blinked at his brother. He could feel the weight of Molly's stare, urging him to spill the beans instead of hearing it from Mycroft. Sherlock tried, but as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out of it. His heart was beating twice as fast, he feared it might pop out of his chest, no matter how impossible that should be.

"Well then, I guess I'll have to do it." Mycroft flipped open the folder in front of Molly, "Eight years ago…"

"Stop." Sherlock croaked, and put a sturdy hand over the folder. He looked at Molly, at the soft brown irises of her eyes that already knew what he was going to say, but needed his words to confirm it. _I'm sorry, Molly Hooper—_ he conveyed through his eyes, but knew that Molly was too confused to understand at the moment.

Two years ago when Molly decided to have a child, Sherlock realized it was her way of starting over. A new life where she'd stop waiting on her crappy relationships to work and for iceman Sherlock Holmes to finally notice her. And now _this._ It seems like a life without him was now impossible for the poor pathologist. Sherlock looked at Will, now seeing the impeccable sameness his friends and the many strangers have so kindly pointed out.

He cleared his throat, and shifted slightly in his seat so he was facing Molly and Will, _his son._ Suddenly the situation didn't feel so frightening.

"Molly, eight years ago, just before I had made my way to Bart's and into your life, I was…a different man. Only Mycroft knew of the extent to my drug addiction, having been the only man to rescue me from _many_ instances of overdose. Many times my brother found me in an abandoned house or an alley, on the verge of death. During those years, I have broken time and time again a few of my bones, because of my _activities._ In the course of self-destruction, it was no wonder how I have depleted my parents' inheritance in a span of eight months, and when earning through honest work became out of the options, I resorted to petty theft. I was _very_ good and I never got caught, but when that wasn't enough, I looked for… _unconventional ways_ to make a living. Or rather…a way to purchase more drugs.

Molly cupped her face with her hands, "Jesus…Sherlock…"

"Timothy Marks. He's the one who suggested I go to a sperm bank. He has done it many times before, and it was easy money. So, I…"

"Okay, stop!" Molly shouted, startling Will. "… _you_."—she glared at Sherlock, "You…donated to a sperm bank. I got pregnant through an anonymous donor. My son, who by the way is seemingly already named after you, ends up looking like an exact copy of you and everyone starts to notice it, including your shady brother and your parents. Apparently everyone but you and I thought _oh, it's just a coincidence because why would Sherlock Holmes have his samples on a clinic anyway_ because you haven't the slightest courtesy to at least tell me about it!"

Will wailed, his cries echoing in the empty shop.

"How could _I?!_ " Sherlock fought back. "It was during the darkest days of my life and I deleted it from my mind…" he tried to explain, but Molly was having none of it.

"Oh, bull! That's just a lot of…" Molly's voice trembled. "I can't believe this is happening!"

"Stop shouting Molly, you're scaring him!" He bellowed, which wasn't going any help to calm Will down. "It's hardly my fault you picked a donor of my physical attributes…"

"So this is _my_ doing?!"

"You two. Stop." Mycroft intervened, serious as a heart attack. If there was anything he hated more than leg work, it was commotion. Shouting and lashing and unnecessary noise. He gestured for Anthea to come over and ordered for Will to be taken to the far end of the shop. She seemed aghast, obviously not one to console a crying toddler before, but had no choice but to comply. After all, her job description did tell her to expect bizarre requests. "This is hardly anyone's doing. Sherlock donated anonymously and you, Doctor Hooper, decided to conceive through an anonymous donor. I can't believe I'm saying this, but it seems that everything is coincidental in nature."

"There's no such thing as coincidence." Sherlock scowled.

Mycroft nodded, "Fate, then."

Molly and Sherlock sat side by side each other, arms crossed and heads tilted in opposite sides, stubbornly refusing to accept the reality of their situation. _Oh Mary would have a field day—_ Molly thought. John would lose his mind at how these remarkable things keep on happening to Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson would shout for joy and _oh yes,_ Sherlock and Mycroft's parents would be _delighted_.

A middle-aged woman with a hearty belly underneath a pink apron came out of the kitchen and brought over a tray of tea and French macarons. "Thank you, Agatha."—Mycroft nodded, and waited till Agatha was out of sight before speaking again. "Please, help yourself to a cup of tea. It should calm you right down."

"No."

"I'm fine, thanks."

Molly and Sherlock said in unison. Mycroft couldn't help but chuckle.

Sherlock glared at him, "It's not funny, Mycroft."

"Oh it is, brother." Mycroft gathered the discarded folders and kept them on a neat pile in front of him, deciding that nothing on the files would help his brother and the mother of his child. Then he looked at his secretary on the other side of the café, struggling to keep William quiet. His nephew. "I can't believe you've made an uncle out of me."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hi! So there goes. The cat's out of the bag. I've been struggling to put this chapter together because my angsty side kept on surfacing. I finished one sad chapter and decided to scrap _everything_ to stick on the bright side. Actually, all the chapters have a dark version in my documents folder.

Sorry for the delayed update! Been hellish this week at work. But I'm back on track, and to make up for the delay, I'll upload a new chapter tomorrow! It just needs a bit of polishing. It's going to be fluffy again, I promise.

x C


	7. Chapter 7

Hello! Thanks for the lovely reviews. I love reading your opinions, especially to the guests who pointed out that 'mom' is 'mum' in the UK and 'diaper' is 'nappy'. Sorry for these things, I'm not English and everything I know about the slang, I got from shows and movies. Hahaha

So I promised you a new chapter, though it's a bit late. So here goes.

See you again next week! Review, pretty please?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"This is where I leave you." Mycroft sighed and slid out of the booth, then stood straight beside Sherlock before making his leave. "The shop is closed for another…"—he felt for his bronze-plated pocket watch, "…thirty minutes or so. If you want sustenance, Agatha will give you the best lemon cakes in all of London. Put it on my tab, of course. _Merienda_ is on me."

Sherlock scoffed and looked up at his brother, " _You._ You're enjoying this."

"Yes, indeed." He clicked the tip of his umbrella on the linoleum floor, "Well, I better go. Play time's over."

Anthea walked over to their booth and handed Will over to Sherlock. "Good luck, Mr. Holmes."—she gave him a tailored smile, something the woman had long perfected because of working under Mycroft. He should applaud the woman for lasting her job. Not many people knew how to handle a Holmes, let alone the more sinister Mycroft Holmes.

He's held William many, many times before, but somehow this time, when Sherlock held the boy in front of him, his pink, chubby cheeks stained with tears, it felt _different._ Suddenly everything he held dear and thought vital before seemed insignificant and petty compared to the one great task he was given; that of a _father._ It overwhelmed him, just thinking that _this lovely, clever boy_ was half of him and half of Molly. He never cared much about genetics but now he felt its significance.

Molly's hands remained on her lap, fiddling with the lacy hem of her sweater. She dared a glance toward Sherlock, who still hasn't said another word since their little scream fest, but instead has poured all his attention on Will, combing the little boy's unruly locks and straightening the imaginary wrinkles down his shirt.

She couldn't help but sigh. _What a stroke of luck._

Sherlock looked her way then, "Good?"

"Good."—she mumbled a small reply, feeling the initial shock it all wean down.

Molly watched them in awe; this was her family now, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper and their son. Just then she realized her anger had been a bit unnecessary, because Mycroft was right. What happened to them was _nobody's_ fault but fate's, if there was ever such a thing. In fact she should at least thank Mycroft Holmes and his shady detective work. _I'll send a text,_ Molly told herself. _Or an edible arrangement to his office, maybe?_

"Molly."

"Hmm?"

She focused on Sherlock, and Molly didn't think she'd seen the signs so clearly. Now that she knew about Will's paternal origins, there was really no denying that Sherlock was his father. A DNA test would be a total waste of valuable resources trying to prove the truth of their relationship.

"Listen, I…" He swallowed hard and looked away, directing his gaze towards Will once again. "…I'm aware that when you first decided to have a child, you did not expect to have someone else to raise William beside you. It was your decision then not to involve William's biological father into your lives, and finding out that I _am_ his father shouldn't affect that decision. What I'm saying is, _Molly_ ,"—his voice deepened when he said her name and met her eyes again, "—if you wish for me to act like this revelation didn't happen and continue on with our lives as before, I respect it."

Molly let out a soft laugh. "Oh, Sherlock." She relieved him of the weight of Will on his lap and kissed the top of her son's head. _Will had his hair, for heaven's sake._ Then she looked up at Sherlock, still taller in stature even when they are both sitting. Never before had she seen him so unsure of himself, his jaw clenched and his eyes refusing to meet hers as he waited for her response.

"For a proper genius, you are a bit dim." She teased him, and then cooed at Will who was now content being back in a shouting-free environment. "Is that right, Will? How is it that your dad knows every nook and cranny of this city, and can find out a person's deepest secrets at a glance, yet he seems to have no knowledge whatsoever about human nature?"

"Pardon?" Sherlock was studying her now, she could feel it. He was no doubt tearing apart her words in his mind so he could better understand her.

"Sherlock, we can't…we can't go on living just as before now that we know Will's yours. And yes, I have decided in the past to raise him on my own and leave the man out of it. That's what sperm donors are for, _after all_." Molly chuckled, still unbelieving of how they got themselves into this situation. Hundreds of donors at her disposal and she happened to choose Sherlock? _Fate, indeed_. "...but that was before we found out that you're his _dad_ , Sherlock. And Will needs his dad just as much as you need him."

He blinked at her, "So, you're saying…"

"I want you here. With _us_."

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath and stared back at Molly with wide, unblinking eyes. He had conditioned himself to rejection, because why on Earth would Molly Hooper let him be a part of Will's life? He was volatile, and all his life he had little regard for another human being's life except his own and his friends, he had a tendency for substance abuse and Molly had been there to witness all that. He had more bad days than good ones, and to consider the many times he'd been rude and selfish and inconsiderate of Molly's feelings, Sherlock knew he was in no position to ask for a part in their lives.

Yet Molly Hooper, a woman with a tremendously big heart, said yes to build this life with him. Sherlock's mind wasn't ready for that.

And so he sat there, eerily still without as much as a blink, frozen.

"Sh-Sherlock?" She waved a hand in front of him, to no avail. "Oh god, Will. I think I broke him."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Wait…what now?" John's face paled when he heard the news. _Sherlock Holmes—a father. To none other than William. Molly's son. Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper…_ _ **parents.**_ _._ "You're saying…that the kid…" he waved a hand at Will on the floor, coloring pages with Lizzie, "… _that_ kid, is yours? Yours and Molly's?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, "I do not know what else there is to understand about me saying that William is my son, but yes, that's it."

He and Molly decided to tell the Watsons about the news separately, knowing that the two of them would have very different reactions. Molly was right of course, because not five minutes into her conversation with Mary in the kitchen, there came a shriek that shook the whole of Baker Street. Mary was _certainly_ pleased.

John, however, had a bit of trouble grasping.

"Okay…" John nodded, " _Okay_ , but…how, exactly?"

"Come on, John. The facts are all under your nose. As ever you see, but do _not_ observe."

"Fine, fine. So you're saying that _this_ was purely coincidental? You didn't have anything to do with it, did you? Because I swear to god…" He sighed, and leaned in closer to say a curse word out of the children's earshot. "Everything's a coincidence?"

"It would appear so, yes." Sherlock uncrossed his legs and reached out to Will to save him from eating a delicious-looking yellow crayon.

" _Seven hells_." John resigned on his seat, smiling from ear to ear. "So, how's it going to be, then? Will lives in two places, Molly gets Mondays through Thursdays and you get the rest? Though judging by the current state of your flat, I doubt Molly will let you have a child here. Who knows what cupboard he opens when left on his own?"

"William has been living here for a week and Molly didn't seem to have a problem with that." Sherlock said, resting his head against the back rest to ease an incoming headache. It's only been two hours since he found out and he could already feel his life unravelling right before his eyes. Everything in his life had been planned out; he was to live a life alone with only his crimes— _and sure, his landlady—_ to keep him company. But now that was definitely out of his options. First came John, then all his _new friends,_ and now William. Staying alone was now out of the options.

And he may have been "famous" for his indifference, but Sherlock knew that fathers should be there for their sons, just like his own father had been there for him.

"You alright, mate?" John asked in concern, watching his friend slump further in his seat.

"Of course." Sherlock replied stubbornly.

"Right, sure." John nodded, "So Sherlock, what's it going to be between you and Molly there?"—he bobbed his head towards the kitchen where Mary and Molly have recovered from the _joy of it all_ and resorted to setting the table for dinner.

Sherlock pursed his lips as he stole a glance at Molly, wearing a generic _New York_ t-shirt she bought. From a street vendor, _obviously. Yes,_ what was he to do with Molly Hooper? Sherlock knew his place in William's life. He was his dad and Molly made it clear he wanted him on board. Sherlock knew he had a right to every school affair or recital, and every possible father-son event there is.

But what about Molly? He sighed, feeling a migraine coming. "I…I don't know."

John raised a brow and chuckled, "That's new…"

"No, I am serious. Obviously she's my friend. Has been for a long time. And now…" He flinched as Molly dropped a tray of utensils and it landed on the floor with a loud clunk. Precise and flawless in the morgue, yet the epitome of awkward and clumsy everywhere else. "…now she's also the mother of my child."

"Wow…" John chuckled, "Sorry, I just…didn't think I'd hear you say that."

He frowned, "Me neither."

"What do you want to do, though? With Molly, I mean."

Sherlock groaned, more frustrated than he had ever been in a long time, his voice turning into a low whisper as he spoke. "I don't know. Perhaps marry the woman? Isn't that what people _do_ these days? You have a child with someone, you marry them? I don't know!" He rolled his eyes and stood up, wanting badly to get ahold of his violin so he could calm his mind.

John laughed, "And you're up for that, hmm? Marry Molly Hooper, just like that?"

"Yes."

"This is Molly we're talking about."

Sherlock glared at him, "…your point, exactly?"

"My point is that Molly is _in love_ with you, you git." John made sure he was speaking softly. Sherlock breathed a heavy sigh, nodding a brow in assent. "...she has been for as long as I've known her, and Sherlock, if you do decide to marry the woman, then you have to _really marry_ her, not just for the sake of norm. Otherwise you'll just…be breaking the poor girl's heart."

Finally he found his violin case propped up against the book case, but found himself no longer interested in playing. "What, then?"

John shrugged and made a quick glance at the kids on the floor, checking to make sure they haven't choked on a crayon. "I don't know. Haven't been in your situation before."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So uhm…I think everything's back in their proper places." Molly said, holding a kitchen towel she used to wipe the dishes with. She went to the living room where she left Sherlock and Will while she put away the mess, insisting that it was the least she can do after he looked after her— _their-_ son for a week. She expected to find the two in their previous positions, sitting side by side as they watched a _Nat Geo Wild_ documentary about thieving monkeys, but instead Molly found Sherlock fast asleep on his back on the long couch, with Will peacefully dozing off on his broad chest. Sherlock had one arm around Will's back, making sure the little guy didn't roll over and fall.

Obviously she had to steal a photograph of the moment.

Then slowly, Molly made her way to the clutter on the floor, colored pages Lizzie wanted Sherlock to put up on the fridge. He promised he would, of course, being the _adorable_ uncle that he was. She gathered the artworks carefully as not to disturb the boys, but unfortunately Sherlock's heightened sense of hearing didn't go away when he slept.

Sherlock woke up, almost forgetting that he had a sleeper on him.

"Oh, sorry…" Molly smiled and hugged the drawings to her chest. "It's alright, I think we best be heading back so you can sleep." She then placed the papers on the coffee table and put a fancy-looking ashtray on top of it.

Slowly, Sherlock sat up, shifting ever so cautiously as to not disrupt Will's sleep. "I'll call you a cab, then."

"Oh, no need. We'll be fine, I promise." She started picking up the bags by the door way, realizing that she couldn't possibly take everything out into the streets all by herself, let alone get to the station.

"Here Molly, just take him." He said softly, and he had never been so gentle with her before, that she couldn't help but listen to what he said. Molly scooped Will up in her arms and rocked him back to sleep when he began to fuss. _Crisis averted._ "And I will call you a cab. Obviously you can't take the tube at this hour. Not with all these things and Will, anyway."

Molly saw the logic in his decision and nodded, "You're right…yeah, we'll take a cab."

It didn't take long to find one. It was Baker Street, after all. One of the things Sherlock loved about the location is that it was close enough to important landmarks, yet far enough from tourists' prying eyes. He helped the cabbie load the bags into the boot of the car while Molly settled in the backseat. She supposed they could have stayed the night, considering the hour and the circumstance, but Molly thought the space would do them both good. Heaven knows it had been an awfully long day for both of them.

"All set." Sherlock walked around the car and stood outside the passenger seat.

"Thank you, Sherlock." She said once again, and before she could turn on her mind's filters, she was suddenly talking more. "Not just…for the cab, or the dinner. Thank you for taking care of Will when I was away, and…being an _amazing_ dad to him long before you knew he was yours."

Sherlock mustered up a smile, "He's not difficult to adore, Molly. I can't take any credit for that. He's a lovely boy."

Molly nodded and looked down on Will, "Yeah, he really is."

He cleared his throat and leaned forward, one hand on the window, one hand brushing Will's cheek. "Go home, Molly Hooper. Get some rest and maybe we'll talk about it in the morning."—he pulled away and gave Molly a soft, quick peck on the cheek. He didn't know why he did that or why he hadn't been fast enough to stop himself, but Sherlock realized later that he did not regret it. And judging by the color that spread on Molly's cheek, she didn't detest it either.

Sherlock stood on the sidewalk, watching the vehicle drive away with the now two most important people in his life. Then when it made a turn and disappeared into view, he plucked out a cigarette from his coat and lit it. Molly wouldn't approve and John would be disappointed that he broke his record, but tonight he needed a drag.

After all, it wasn't every day you find out you're a father.


	8. Chapter 8

HAVE YOU SEEN THE SEASON 4 TRAILER?

Wait, of course you have. What am I even talking about? I don't know why I feel this way but I'm actually scared to watch the new series. Mark says it's the darkest season ever, and I don't know what to expect. Because I'm thinking that nothing can be darker than The Reichenbach Fall, so yes, I'm scared.

Anyway, here goes the eighth chapter.

Please leave reviews? I'm a sucker for those.

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"Uh, Sherlock? Don't you think this is a bit…too much?" Molly looked around her living room, now brimming with shopping bags from children's apparel stores. A pile of books sat on her kitchen counter, all sorts of educational materials Sherlock thought would benefit William as he grew older. Obviously, she needed a new shelf for all that stuff. At one point, he suggested buying their son his first violin, and not just a violin-shaped toy from the department store; a _real_ one, preferably made by his luthier. Molly talked him out of it, fortunately, for the sole reason that William would break it in a week.

Sherlock looked at her with a confused look on his face, and she added, "…you're going to spoil him, that's for sure."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Spoiling a child would be to give in to all his wants and whims, no matter how ridiculous or unnecessary. These things, Molly Hooper, are there for his development and growth. This is merely a part of _'providing needs'_ , as this book calls it." He held up a parenting book he bought along with the children's books. "If anyone ends up spoiling William, we both know it's going to be you."

Molly couldn't help but smile. "Guilty as charged. How can you say no to him, hmm?"

Sherlock looked away with a small smile, thinking about how William had convinced his mum to buy him a train set with his charming baby blues, and the little pout he had learned to master. It seemed like Molly was forever going to be enslaved by her boys' spell.

Certainly this was going on a desirable direction. The first night of finding out that she shared a son with Sherlock Holmes, Molly thought she'd seen the last of him. She did expect him to bolt and run from the responsibility, or probably pretend like it didn't happen. But of course he _stayed._ Why wouldn't he? Sherlock made it clear he wanted to be a part of Will's life just as much as she was.

"Uh, Sherlock? Can I…I don't know, maybe ask you a favor?"

Sherlock raised a brow, "Hmm?"

"Well, uh…I know you've already watched over Will for a week, and I want you to know that this won't be a regular thing…" she trailed off, "…I mean, not the visiting thing, of course you can see him anytime you wish because he's _your_ son, too. Well, thing is I have to work a double shift tomorrow night, and I could call a sitter, but I thought maybe you'd like another night with him? Just till the morning when my shift ends."

"Oh." Sherlock nodded, and then smirked. "…and here I was, thinking you'd confess to murdering someone and ask me to get you off of a case, Molly Hooper."

Molly rolled her eyes, biting back a smile but she sure knew her raging blush betrayed her. Leave it to Molly to blush at practically being called a murderer. Just as she was about to pick up the stack of books and move them to a temporary storage location in her vintage armoire, Sherlock spoke. "…and I'm keeping William until after you get some sleep. Can't have you looking after a toddler sleep-deprived, can I?"

She felt her insides grow warm, "Thank you, Sherlock. I really appreciate it."

"I am only thinking about William, that is all."

Molly chuckled, finding him adorably _cute_ as he refused to look her way. "I know. I might drift off and Will could hurt himself."

"Exactly." He nodded and buried himself back on his book.

"By the way, would you like to stay over for dinner?" Molly asked before she lost his attention. At the speed by which he was reading, it wouldn't take another hour to finish it. He looked up at her, watching her as she made her way around the shopping bags and reached into her pantry, "…I've watched quite a lot of cooking shows while I was away. My favorite was this uh, contest…and there was this rude chef yelling at the contestants, insulting their cooking and all that, and anyway, I _loved_ it, and…I thought I could buy a cookbook and practice."

Sherlock hummed with a nod, "Should I be worried?"

Molly chuckled, "Definitely."

"Hmm, count me in."

That night they dined on the world's most _awful_ chicken pesto.

Thankfully, Molly had enough red wine in her cupboards to wash it down.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Say _'Daddy'_ , William. _'Dad-dy'_." Sherlock propped William in between his legs, holding him at a distance so he could look straight into his son's eyes, a deep bluish green color just like his and his mum's. Such a shame he didn't get Molly's eyes. Though Molly strongly disagreed that it was a heartache not passing on her brown eyes, Sherlock thought otherwise. For when he looked at Will, he saw himself, and a part of him was beginning to grow afraid that his pure, innocent son would turn out just like him.

"Da-da!" Will squealed and reached out his arms at Sherlock's face, "Da!"

"Aw, look at you two!" Mrs. Hudson came in just in time for the promised dinner. Apparently no one had told her of the recent development in Sherlock's life that when she found out, Sherlock thought the poor lady was going to have a heart attack. And to commemorate the event, she brought up a hearty roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and parsnip puree.

"Molly's sure he's going to say Mummy first. We're going to prove her wrong, right William?"

Mrs. Hudson set the food on the new mantle of his dining table, "Oh, I'm sure he'll get it. Your mother tells me you didn't learn to speak properly until you were two. Was beginning to think you were a deaf-mute, or something."

"Did she?" Sherlock looked up, and decided that today was not going to be the day William speaks his first word yet, so he picked him up and set him down on the floor to play with toy trains. Then, his doorbell rang.

 _Single pressure, just under half a minute._

"Is that a client?" Mrs. Hudson peered from the kitchen, a worried expression on her face. Sherlock had to applaud her improving deduction skills, though. "Should you be taking clients today, Sherlock?"

He bolted from his seat, "Why not? Make sure William doesn't make it to the stairs, Mrs. Hudson. Be right back."

A minute later, Sherlock came back ushering a young woman in her early 20's, blonde, salon-tailored hair, an expensive, laid-back coat and an obvious posh accent. _Love affair—_ Sherlock knew from the moment he saw her. Affairs of the heart were _always_ a bore, but he'd been out of cases for what seemed like forever that he would take anything, _anything_ at all. "Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Holmes… _oh."—_ the woman said as soon as her eyes laid on William, pitting toy trains against each other on the floor.

"No, no. He's only a baby, I'm confident he won't be talking to the paparazzi who followed you all the way here."—Sherlock waved her off and offered the client chair. He took the opposite chair and crossed his legs.

"I'm not what you think I am, Mr. Holmes. I'm not a… _celebrity_ of some sort…"

"Yes. Your brother, though. He's the family star. Now, onto your _dilemma_ ¸ Miss Woods."

"It's my husband…"

"Of course it is." Though Sherlock initially thought it was a boyfriend, forgetting that some people actually marry early. In the case of Miss Woods, it was clearly a marriage of convenience, judging from the lack of a ring and the obvious fact that she, too, have been having an affair with a college friend. _Boring, boring._

"The sod emptied our joint bank account!"—she was fuming, "Not just that, Mr. Holmes. All the expensive paintings and ivory figurines…gone! My jewelries, even my grandmother's priced jade earring, for Christ's sake."

 _Boring._ Maybe this was a mistake. Sherlock decided that no case was better than a boring case."Call a detective, then a lawyer." He got to his feet, stepping around William so he could show Miss Woods to the door. "—goodbye."

"…wait!" Miss Woods stood, "I haven't finished yet."

"Don't care. You're too boring." He held his door open, "Now please, I'm babysitting."

"He's dead, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock looked at her, scanning her—from the lack of sweat on her brow, to the tone of her voice, down to the stillness of her hands—for tell-tale signs of lying. For someone who had just seen a dead body, she was surprisingly calm. "He's been killed…in my flat." Her composure unnerved him. Her _separated_ husband, killed in her flat, and the woman was telling him like she'd found a dead mouse on her rug. _Interesting._

"Where's the body now?" Sherlock closed the door.

"I just told you, he's lying dead in my flat."

His brows furrowed. Ordinary people usually call the police. "You haven't called the police?"

"They will only tamper with the evidence. Isn't that what you always say?"

Sherlock smirked, _first dibs on a dead body._ A wealthy businessman who emptied his wife's bank account, killed. Not by his wife, _obviously_. She may be emotionally distant and unattached, but she wasn't a murderer. She came to him, because the police would easily pin the murder on her, and then case closed. "I'll take it."

He grabbed his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck in a haste, and just then he remembered… _William._ "Oh, boy." Mrs. Hudson won't be able to keep up with him, and everybody else was at work…so there was one thing left to do. He obviously cannot pass up on this case, so Sherlock bent down and picked up his son. "Come, come William. We're going on a field trip."

"Oh you can't be seriously…" Miss Woods hesitated, looking back and forth at Sherlock then the boy. "There's a _dead_ person where we're going."

"What's dead can't hurt you. Miss Woods." True, but the living can beat the hell out of you. But neither Sherlock nor his posh client knew that when they walked into the flat.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Molly clapped her hands together and breathed out a relieved sigh. Finally, her shift was over. She thought the hours would drag to no end and Molly thought she'd never get out of the morgue forever. A tad bit exaggerated, but ever since she became a mum, work didn't seem worth the extra hours anymore. Sure, she loved her job and if there was one thing she could count on, it was the fact that her paper works and the dead bodies would still be there in the morning.

She took off the latex gloves and tossed them in the biohazard bin, and just then, the doors opened. At first she thought it was Sherlock, thinking that the boredom must have gotten over his head and decided to pester her at work. It was a welcome distraction, of course. "I was just cleaning up, Sherlock…"

"Molly?"

Molly looked to the door. _Not Sherlock._ "Oh, hi John! Sorry, I thought you were…"

"Molly, something's happened." John was shifting, no doubt organizing his next words in his mind before saying them to Molly. That's when dread settled in the pit of her stomach. _Oh god._ Something was wrong…she knew it. "Sherlock…he took a case, and he took Will with him…" She felt anger rise in her throat. _The cod!_ Her cheeks must have been blazing red because John stepped closer, "…William's fine, perfectly fine. But he's pretty shaken and Sherlock's hurt himself."

Molly relaxed at knowing that her son was unhurt, but then her mum gears went full throttle and conjured scenarios in which the outcomes could have easily been different. Her sweet, sweet boy could have been hurt because his selfish prick of a dad took him to a case! A dangerous case, apparently, because look how things turned out! "Where's my son, John?"

"Upstairs. Sherlock's been admitted…"

In the VIP suite, no less. Mycroft had specific orders for his immediate family to be taken there. Molly didn't need another word from John before she darted off to the elevator, leaving him and her bloodied lab coat in the morgue.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sherlock winced as the _careless_ nurse missed another vein. If his other arm wasn't fractured and if his ribs didn't hurt when he moved, he would have punched the guy. But because of the circumstance, Sherlock decided to glare at him to death instead. Finally, on the third try, the IV line was hooked to him, and having the painkillers delivered directly to his bloodstream was almost worth the hassle.

But every time his eyes settled on Mary, who was rocking a restless Will to sleep, he felt his stomach churn. He endangered his son. If he hadn't been quick enough…their placed could have easily been reverse. And Sherlock didn't know if he could forgive himself if that happened.

"Feeling better?"—Mary checked on Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned, "Molly's going to end me, you know."

"Oh, she'll be mad." Mary nodded, "Hell, I'll kill you for sure if you did something remotely similar to Lizzie. Just _what on earth_ were you thinking, Sherlock?!" She wanted to scream murder, Sherlock could tell. If it wasn't for the sleeping child on her lap, she would have kicked him in the butt.

"In my defense, I didn't know the murderer was still in the premises." He looked away, knowing full well it was his fault and he was in no place to defend himself.

"So that makes it okay, then? Taking a baby to a crime scene… _jesus,_ Sherlock." Mary shook her head disappointingly. Just then the door opened, and in came a red-faced Molly Hooper. Sherlock swallowed a lump in his throat, bracing for the worst. He had never seen Molly this upset at him before, and he's given her all sorts of headaches in the past. If Molly decides to break all his bones tonight, he would take it. Sherlock deserved all the lashings from Molly right now.

First she stormed over to Mary, and gently picked Will up in her arms, careful as not to disturb his peaceful state. "Will you uhm…give us a minute, Mary? Thank you for looking after him."

"Yeah, Molls. It's no problem."

Once Mary was gone, Molly turned to face him, her face tense and blank, and though she was holding _their_ son in her arms, she looked ready to smash him with the nearest object if it need be. She studied him, reading him through the arm sling on his left arm, the blue-black bruises painted on his abdomen, down to the long bandage on his arm, and for the first time Sherlock felt what it was like to be under someone's scrutiny.

"You're cold." She said in a low whisper and with one free hand, reached for a fresh blanket on the foot of his bed and covered his chest with it. Sherlock flinched, not expecting the gesture because he thought that Molly would smother him with it.

"Thank you…"

"No," She stopped him, "I don't need you to thank me. I need you tell me what happened." Molly took a step back so she could look at him at a distance.

So Sherlock told her everything, not sparing a single, boring detail. He told her about the morning at the flat, how everything was going perfectly according to plan, until a client came to see him. He told her about how he first thought it was going to be just another love triangle, and then it turned out to be a murder case. Sherlock told her about how decided to take Will with him, not seeing the consequences that was upon them now. He told her that when they came into the empty flat, the body had already been moved but the murderer, or rather the hired assassin that was paid to do the job, was still in the premises.

"Russian, late-thirties…a giant." Sherlock said, never taking his eyes off of Molly as he retold his story. "The moment he saw us, he tackled me. Thankfully, it was after I had put Will down to the floor and he, by instinct probably, crawled under a table. He cried watching me be beaten to a pulp, but I was thankful I was the one taking the punches." Sherlock pursed his lips, not being able to erase the horrid sound of Will crying in fear from his mind. "A professional assassin wouldn't see my son as a threat, but who knew what was going on in his mind. A fractured arm and a few broken ribs later, I heard shots. The client found a gun and shot the assassin down, killing him immediately."

Molly paused, replaying his words in her mind, rationalizing his story like she would rationalize a problem. Sherlock found no use sugar-coating the details, because Molly deserved to know all of it. The flaws in his reasoning, and the danger of the situation he put himself and his son in.

"Okay." Molly nodded.

"…okay?"

"The way I look at it, you…chose a case over him. You said there was no other way, but of course there was one obvious option. You could have said _no_ , Sherlock." Molly's voice remained calm, but still they burned through Sherlock. Yes, he could have said no. But he didn't know that then. An hour ago, Sherlock didn't know where his priorities were. "…but you didn't, and look what's happened. You've hurt yourself and Will could have easily been trapped in the crosshairs too, I realize that."

Sherlock tried sitting straight, but it hurt too much to move even a muscle. "I'm sorry, Molly. Please, forgive me."

"Yeah, I know you are…" She looked away. "But I think we should give you time to think. All _this…_ William, I mean. You didn't really ask for this responsibility, but still you've been wonderful, but…I can't help but think that you're not fully ready for this. I don't think you understand that being a parent means having to change your whole world and letting some pieces of your old life go. So I think it's only fair if you get some time away from us. Just to...clear your head and find out what you really want to do next."

"Molly, I…"

"I know, I know…" Molly moved closer, "I know you're sorry, and you didn't mean for any of this to happen." She looked into his eyes, and he could see that she was angry at him, and what was worse than having Molly angry at you, was losing Molly's trust. "Just a few weeks, Sherlock. Or I don't know, maybe till you're better. But right now…I think it's for the best if Will recovers with me."

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Sorry? Told you I'm angsty. Plus the trailer really messed me up.

x C


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 _Been gone a long, long time...but I'm back, sort of._

 _Just want to say thank you for even reading this, and if you read this last year and you're reading this again in 2017, thank you!_

 _I read the story all over again because I kind of lost track, so now I have a clearer direction as to where this whole thing goes. So, here's the ninth chapter. Let me know what you think! I'm kind of a sucker for reviews._

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"So, Tramadol for the pain. Use only when absolutely necessary, okay?" John placed a pill bottle on Sherlock's night stand. Sherlock closed his eyes, lying on his back on the bed as he pretended not to see nor hear him, though the wincing gave him away. "And if any of your wounds re-open, you call me. No self-suturing."

Sherlock groaned, "Yes."

His mind was still hazy from the IV pain meds he'd been hooked to from the hospital and he could barely focus on John's face as he hovered above Sherlock, his voice sounding like it came from another room, echoing off of the walls but not quite reaching Sherlock's senses.

The only thing that was clear as day in his mind was the memory of Molly talking to him in the hospital. Every word, every twitch of her mouth and every tear she tried to hold back played on a loop in his mind palace. He failed her, that's for sure. He failed his son, too.

How could he ever make up to that?

 _Flowers—_ his mum would say. It won't be the answer to all his problems but it was a start, right? And it should be carnations. Molly loved carnations; the pink ones especially, like the color of her cheeks.

"Good, good. Now I'll be back at around three to check on you."—he felt John's hands on his forehead, checking his temperature.

"No need." Sherlock mumbled. "Flowers. Carnations…pink."

"Flowers?" John scoffed. "Since when do you have flowers around here? But Mrs. Hudson's heading to the farmer's market in the afternoon, so I'll ask her to pick some up."

If only Sherlock could convey his feelings properly and if only John was more observant.

"For _her_. Molly."

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Molly closed the ring bound paper work and sighed when Will screamed his lungs out from his makeshift pen in the lab. She was getting zero work done, what with her son's non-stop shrieking. She got off her stool and took off her lab coat, deciding to put-off working for today. It's not like the bodies will turn up dead-er than they were if she didn't input her write-ups.

It had only been three long days since she told Sherlock to take a breather from the whole fathering thing, and yet Molly had never been so exhausted in her entire life. It was like she hadn't done this before—raising Will on her own. That morning she couldn't get him to stay put in the bath, and couldn't keep him from making a fuss during breakfast and the whole trip to the hospital. She thought about leaving him with Mary for the day, but with Will's mood swings, Molly didn't want to give her friend too much trouble.

But then again, she hadn't been exactly raising him on her own.

She had John and Mary and Mrs. Hudson, but most especially she had Sherlock, and looking back to the first days through the months of William's life, he'd been there beside her.

There to soothe William through the colic and the teething and the tantrums.

Sherlock Holmes did everything right, and Molly pushed him away for the one thing he did wrong. _It was a really, really wrong thing-_ she told herself.

"Molly?" The door opened, and for a second she wondered if Sherlock miraculously recovered and decided to barge in. Instead it was John, still dressed in his work clothes, with a bouquet of lovely, full-bloom carnations in his hand.

"John? W-what are you…" William seemed to calm at the sight of another person in the room. "Are those…"

John smiled her way, "Yeah. Sherlock requested to have these delivered. Is the little man giving you any trouble?" He placed the flowers on the counter and reached his arm out, and William jumped at the chance without hesitation.

Molly sighed and stretched her tired arms. "He's not usually like this."

"Probably another tooth coming out." John bounced on his feet as Molly picked up the bouquet. It amazed her how Sherlock remembered her favorite flowers. Sure, he was observant—more than observant, really—but she did appreciate him storing this little thing about Molly in his mind. She hoped that somewhere in the recesses of his amazing memory was a part just for her; things about her that had nothing to do with her skills as a pathologist or as Will's mom.

 _Yes, Molly Hooper. Dream on._

"He misses Sherlock." She said, bringing the flowers to her nose. "Thanks for bringing these here, John." Molly pulled a 2000 mL Erlenmeyer flask and filled it with tap water. "—how is he? Feeling any better?"

John placed Will on the tile counter, "A bit groggy still. Labs were good, though. And his X-Ray's as good as can be, considering he got beat up pretty bad this time. I'll go check on him after work to make sure he doesn't OD on pain meds; I can take a message, if you wish?"

Molly placed the flask on a sun-lit spot and placed the stalks in. "Give my thanks?"

He smiled, "Sure thing."—John kissed William on his pudgy cheek and handed him over to his mum. "And my break's over. Bye little one."

"Hey Molls, if you need anything; anything at all, give us a call okay? Sherlock's a bit out-of-order these days, but you don't have to be alone."

She smiled, her tummy warming at the fact that she didn't have to do anything on her own. She had people now; people that would be there for her. "Thank you, John."

The lab went back to its quiet state, with only the whizzing of the centrifuge and the beeping coming from the work computer. Molly looked to the carnations squeezed in the flask then at Will, who like a switch, was now happily playing with locks of his mum's hair with his small fingers.

"Let's get you home, buddy."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Molly arrived at her apartment at nine in the evening, after an unplanned detour at the Watsons for dinner. Mary insisted she came over, probably after John told his wife about how stressed out Molly looked that day. Molly was glad she came over though, because Will needed the company of his friend just as much as she did.

Will was already fast asleep by the time she came home, and thank goodness Mary volunteered to give him a bath some time before dinner, so there was just the matter of changing him into a pair of comfortable pajamas and tucking him into his crib. And after all that's settled, Molly would take a warm shower, put on her dad's favorite vinyl record and sleep.

If she could.

She reached her floor, then her door. But when she reached for the knob, it was already open. Molly immediately felt her heart race. _Something's wrong._ Yes, she was sometimes a clumsy woman but she never left her apartment unlocked. It was one of the things she never missed. _Oh god, what am I to do?_ She looked down at Will sleeping soundly in her arms, her mind going haywire about what was waiting for them that awful night.

A thousand possibilities flooded her mind, but one particular theory stood out. The men that beat up Sherlock must have followed him and found him— _them._

Slowly she backed away from her door and treaded lightly towards the elevator. Out of instinct, she pulled her phone from her coat pocket and called Lestrade. He lived three blocks away— _please be home, Greg—_ and he was a policeman after all.

 _ **Lestrade speaking.**_

"Greg!" Molly said in a whisper, her heart beating out of her chest as she stepped inside the elevator. She felt safer once the doors closed before them. "It's me. It's Molly…I'm sorry to bother you but…"

 _ **Molly? Are you alright? Do you need me to come over?**_

"Uhm, actually…I'm not sure, but yes. Please, if it's not too much trouble, could you…"

 _ **On my way. Stay on the phone and tell me what's happened.**_ She could hear his footsteps rushing on pavement, then the opening of a car door. Then the car's engine buzzing to life.

Why did she live on the fifth floor again? Normally she wouldn't mind the height her flat was on, but tonight it felt like a thousand floors away from the lobby. "Okay, I'm just going down to the lobby. I'm with Will, and I was just going to go inside the flat but it was already open." Her voice was shaking, but she tried to keep as still as possible so Will wouldn't wake up.

 _ **You didn't get inside?**_

"No, I couldn't risk it. What if…" She felt tears well up, and at that exact moment she realized that her life— _hers and Will's_ —will never be normal or safe, for as long as they were associated with Sherlock Holmes. "What if they hurt Will?"

 _ **You did the right thing. Are you at the lobby now?**_

The elevator dinged, and Molly couldn't have reached the concierge counter any sooner. "Yes. Please hurry…"

She couldn't live like this. This wasn't the life she imagined for her son. Suddenly her mum's preposition of leaving London for the suburbs where her family home was seemed like a lovely idea. Shingle roofs, white picket fences, green lawn with plastic flamingos and all that.

 _ **Okay, I'm in the building Molls. I'm hanging up. Stay where you are.**_

Not three minutes passed, And Greg came running towards the entrance along with two officers. "Stay here."—Greg said as soon as he saw Molly. "It's probably nothing, but it would be best if we made a thorough check."

Molly nodded, hugging Will closer to her chest as she swayed him gently.

Maybe after tonight she'll give her mum a call. She would be pleased, that's for sure. Molly was the only one in her family to have given her a grandchild, and it was such an added bonus that Will was one happy, lovely kid. He would have his own room there, and he would learn how to ride the bike in the neighborhood, make some friends in the small private school Molly went to as a kid, and live a life as normal as can be.

And Molly would find a job close to home, probably as a coroner or a Chemistry and Biology teacher at the local high school. She didn't care if the pay was less than half of what Bart's Hospital paid her. It wouldn't matter.

Once upon a time her career here in London mattered more than anything in the world, but not anymore. She would gladly give all that in exchange for a better life away from the city.

"Molly…" She didn't realized Greg had come back down. "It's okay, the flat's clear."

Molly cleared her throat, "So no one broke in?"

"Not exactly." He shrugged, and exchanged looks with the other police officers.

"But it's perfectly safe. Well, you see, it was _Sherlock_." Greg scratched his head, "He's the one who broke in and then passed out on the kitchen floor. We moved him to the couch, still unconscious, and I think some of the sutures tore, but you have a kit to help with that, right?"

 _Sherlock?!_ "He…he's up there…passed out?" _What was he thinking?!_

"If you want us to take him back to Baker Street, we'd be happy to."—he offered.

But she shook her head, "No, it's okay. I'll just…don't worry about it."

"Okay then. So uhm, I better get going now. Do you need help going up?"

Molly smiled as genuinely as she could muster, but she probably ended up looking like a constipated cat. "No, no. I'm alright. I'm sorry for this, Greg…I had no idea…"

Greg waved his hand, "No worries, Molls. You did the right thing."

And sure enough, there he was. Sherlock Holmes, lying on his back on her white couch—probably leaving blood all over it—with a pillow under his neck. Even when asleep he looked pained and restless and _gorgeous,_ but still tired. He was wearing a loose grey shirt and navy blue sweatpants, no shoes. It wouldn't be a surprise if he came all the way from Baker Street barefoot.

With lightning speed she got Will settled, and came back to the living room to attend to the other baby in the flat. _You sod—_ Molly smiled to herself as she knelt down beside him, and realized she must have overreacted when she thought about leaving London and going home to the suburbs.

London was her home, after all. She fell in love with the city the moment she moved there after graduation, and never thought of moving back since.

"Sherlock…" she nudged him lightly. Then she lay a hand over his forehead, checking his temperature. Normal. "—Sherlock, wake up." There was blood on his shirt, probably from where his sutures opened. "Wake up, I need to redo your stitches."

"Molly…" he groaned.

"Yeah, it's me." She sighed, "I don't know when or how you got here, but you're at my place."

As if on an adrenaline rush, Sherlock sat up, not accounting for the fresh cuts on his body. He hissed and clenched his fist, as Molly held him by the shoulders and gently pushed him towards the back of the couch. "Slowly, Sherlock. You're bleeding. Again."—she ran for the first aid kit in her medicine cabinet and laid out the needle and a roll of surgical thread on the coffee table.

And yes, there was a bit of blood on the couch she'll have to spend an hour scrubbing.

"I shouldn't be here." He said. For a moment he looked lost, like he didn't have any recollection of getting there. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." She pulled a wad of cotton from the roll and poured alcohol all over it. "This is going to sting, so uhm…try to stay still." Their eyes met when she looked up at him, and hot damn, even with his hair matted and his skin sticky with sweat, he looked gorgeous. The type of gorgeous that made you forget why you were kneeling on the floor in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Molly."

Molly chuckled, "It's okay Sherlock. You were probably sleepwalking and found your way here. And John said you were heavy on painkillers…"

"No, I don't mean tonight."

He was definitely lucid and sober now, "—I'm sorry. For _everything_. For all the pain I've caused you, and for all the times I humiliated you in front of our friends. I'm sorry If I had made unwarranted opinions about your physical appearance when you are absolutely amazing and _perfect_ the way you are. I realize how stupid and juvenile my actions were, and I realize now how deeply I've hurt you and because of that I don't have a right to ask for a place in yours and Will's lives."

"Sherlock…" She got up and sat on the coffee table.

"No, let me say this while I can and while I am under the influence of medication. I'm sorry I blatantly ignored your feelings for me before. I didn't want to let you on, because I know I could never be the man you think I am. I'm a terrible person, Molly Hooper, and judging from recent circumstances, I'm a _terrible_ father too. But still…I want another chance."—he sighed, his eyes never breaking contact with hers. "I want to become the father you want me to be, just give me time."

Molly only dreamed of hearing those words from him before, and she thought she would only have to settle for Sherlock rarely apologizing for the things he did.

"Okay."—she heard herself say.

Sherlock looked surprised, "Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Was that the answer you were hoping for?"

He smiled, wider than he ever did before if that was possible at all. "Most certainly, Hooper."

Molly smiled back, feeling all the weight of the world come off of her shoulders. "Now straighten up, Mr. Holmes. I'm going to fix you up."

London was her home…and wherever this one hell of a man was.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hope you liked it! I promise more fluff in the next chapter now that the angsty part is over. Review please?


	10. Chapter 10

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sherlock had calculated the exact time Molly would arrive at his flat. Accounting for the time she dropped Will off, her short shift at Bart's, the travel time going to the mall and the average duration of Mary and Molly hanging out, up to the heavy-ish traffic going back to Baker Street, he anticipated her return at around two thirty in the afternoon.

But the clock had ticked past 2:30, and still there was no Molly. Shame. He was looking forward to… _no._ Will was looking forward to seeing his mum again. That's it. Nothing else— _oh bugger, Sherlock._ Since when did he miss Molly? This had to be a symptom of missing someone. The term, although relative, and does not depict a much deeper meaning, was unfamiliar to him. Sure, he missed John sometimes because he was Sherlock's partner and best friend. He missed Mrs. Hudson too whenever she went away to her other simpler, quieter properties outside of London, but was because she made him tea _every_ morning and made sure his flat was dust-free.

Mycroft—sure, although Sherlock would definitely go to his grave first before admitting it to himself.

But Molly, why was he suddenly missing Molly? He never thought much of it till that day, when he was in his living room keeping an eye on William playing with toy cars in the playpen, with his very being itching for just a glimpse of Molly Hooper.

 _She's your friend!_ Yes, indeed. But isn't Lestrade his friend, too?

 _She's the mother of your child!_ Yes, but when Sherlock thought about it, he'd been feeling this way since before he found out that William was his.

In fact, he missed her when she went to the Americas for the stupid convention, and hated himself for not asking Mike Stamford to send someone else.

He needed her _here._

For Will's sake, and for science…and for other things entirely unclear.

"Da!" Will squealed. The little boy has figured out that if he screamed loud enough, he would get the toy, the food, or the changing he wanted. Sherlock sure wished Will was better equipped at expressing which one of his needs were needed to be taken care of.

He got up from his chair and went to Will, his chubby arms held up in the air.

Will's eyes were blue like his, but warm like Molly's. Warm, as in the feeling Sherlock got whenever he saw his son, or his son's mother.

 **-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

Molly needed a well-deserved rest and relaxation after everything that's happened recently in her life. First, finding out that Sherlock was her son's biological father and then the little thing with the assassin. So when Mary invited her to a weekend away from the boys and the kids to a lovely cottage in Sussex Downs, Molly couldn't wait to pack her bags.

But then as the weekend grew nearer, she felt unsure of leaving Will with Sherlock again…after all, bad things did have a way of happening to the Holmes bloodline.

"I don't know, Mary…"

"Oh he'll be _fine,_ Molls. Besides, John will be staying at 221B for the weekend so he could look after William too." Mary insisted, holding up a yellow sun dress on Molly's chest. It had short sleeves, was made out of soft fabric and had dainty embroidered flowers at the hem. "I think this is the one."

"You're right. And I'm sure he's learned his lesson after what happened two months ago."

"Exactly." Her friend beamed. "Oh! It's on a discount, too. You have to get it."

Molly resigned and grabbed the dress. She was never the girly girl kind of person, but she was open to one more change in her life. "Yeah, sure. Why the hell not."—it would look good with her nude flats and oversized hat anyway.

"So the cottage is all ours for the weekend. There's a drive-in theater we can go to in the evening, and oh there's this lovely restaurant John and I found on the internet. Hope it's as good as they make it out to be." Mary couldn't keep her excitement to herself after almost two years of being a stay-at-home mom to Lizzie. Molly understood; being a mother was both the best and most tiring thing that could happen to anyone, _ever._

Molly handed the elderly cashier her bills, "Sounds like we're going to have lots of fun, Mary."

"Hell yeah we are!"

 **-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

"Where is she?" Sherlock said to himself as he paced the length of his living room. Will was amused with it, though—clinging on tightly around his neck and giggling, as if his dad was a ride at the amusement park.

Mrs. Hudson perked up, "Where's who now, dear?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and focused on the woman before him. Sherlock told himself to be more careful of his inner ramblings around Mrs. Hudson. She was more inept than she made herself out to be.

"Nothing." He huffed out a long breath. "Bathroom break, watch him Mrs. Hudson."

He was gone before Mrs. Hudson could protest.

Purging Molly out of his system would be pointless now. Whether he liked it or not—though he was more on the 'liking it' side—she was family. He, Molly and William were a family now. So what could he do about this new found… _crush?_ Teenage Sherlock would gag. He never had this feeling, and whenever he was on the verge of getting too involved, he could always rely on Mycroft to him straight.

He reached the door to the bathroom but heard the door to his flat open. Immediately he could tell it was Molly by the sound of her trusty loafers and by Will's heart-melting giggle that followed after.

Sherlock turned his steps around, and would have stepped into view if it weren't for the conversation he overheard from the other side of the wall.

 **-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

Molly hurried back to 221B after a long day of being separated from her baby boy. _God,_ she just couldn't get enough of his adoring smile, curly hair and dazzling blue eyes—okay, okay…she wasn't just talking about the little Holmes. Molly realized that any efforts at getting over Sherlock would be moot, and so she would have to settle with them being just friends who have a son.

Ppsssh. Easy.

Sherlock texted her all day like she requested, from the least interesting details like Will's bowel to his napping schedule. He sent photographs too—except for the bowels of course, that would just be a bit too much—which got Molly through work and through the afternoon shopping with Mary.

The taxi couldn't get there sooner, unfortunately. What with London's traffic and everything. So she fished out her phone and scrolled through the messages Sherlock sent.

 _ **10:05 am: New hat courtesy of Lestrade. He sends his regards.**_

Molly couldn't help but smile at the adorable shot of Will propped up against the leather chair, wearing only his diapers and a miniature version of Sherlock Holmes' trademark hat.

 _ **12:03 pm He refuses to eat his greens.**_

 _ **12:20 pm We've made an agreement. He gets to play his musical toy only if he eats the greens.**_

 _ **12:40 pm Never mind, Mrs. Hudson made him soup. He likes it. It is also quite nutritious, I assure you.**_

Sherlock wasn't kidding when he said he'd keep her updated.

Not that she was complaining.

He kept his word and made drastic changes in his life for Will, like turning down cases lower than an eight and clearing out John's old room and turning it into a play room slash nursery for when Will sleeps over. Little by little, Sherlock built his life around the boy, and everyone who ever knew Sherlock knew that he gave his 101% to the people he cared about.

And this was his _son—_ probably the only child he'll ever have, God knows—after all.

Each time Molly came to Baker Street, she was sure she found more and more baby-related things. First it was Will's crayon scribbles on his fridge. Then a rocking horse Will won't even get to use till he's at least two, but then there's Lizzie Watson to take care of that problem.

It was all so…domestic. Like a portrait of a family straight out of her cheesy romantic novels—except they weren't together, and they didn't live in the same house with picket fences and a nice lawn. Sherlock was a consulting detective—onf of his kind—and Molly cut up dead people for a living and Will would just have to get used to living in two places for the rest of his life.

No biggie!

Finally, Baker Street. Molly fished out bills from her wallet and paid the cabbie, and didn't stay for a longer time to wait for her change.

"Oh, look dear! Mummy's here." Mrs. Hudson beamed as Molly pushed through the door.

Molly opened her arms, "—come here you cute little thing!"

Mrs. Hudson looked on adoringly as Molly swayed on her feet. "Molly…" the old woman sniffled and tried to hold back her tears, but of course she was too emotional for anything of the sort.

"Mrs. Hudson, are you…" Molly asked worriedly. Was it her hip? Again? "…okay?"

Mrs. Hudson waved a hand and smiled sheepishly "I only wish to express how happy I am for you. Truly. All these years, I've come to know you as the beautiful, and wonderful person who deserved to be happy. It's about time you got what you deserved."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson…" Molly couldn't help but be grateful for being mothered. Her own mum wasn't the warm, mothering kind to start with.

"But not quite everything yet, I think." The landlady picked up the empty kettle and headed for the door. Then she leaned forward and spoke in a hushed whisper, "—but don't worry. I'm sure Sherlock will come 'round and realize what you two should be. That is if you still...you know, like him that way."

Molly's face flushed red, not anticipating the turn of the conversation. Before she could formulate a response, she was alone with Will on the flat with no Sherlock in sight. Where was he, anyway?

 **-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

First of all, what did Mrs. Hudson mean? Molly didn't show any indication that she was seeing someone else, romantically or otherwise. These past few months had been Will-centric, and if _did_ date someone, Sherlock would've been the first to know.

"Sherlock?" Molly called out.

He sighed and stepped into view. "Molly."

Molly almost jumped at the sight of him, and at the thought of him overhearing hers and Mrs. Hudson's conversation. "…oh hi, have you uhm…how long have you been…standing there?"

"I was in the bathroom." He lied. "You're early. Didn't Mary want to take you out for dinner?" He lied again. Sherlock had been waiting for Molly to return and she knew it. _Damn it._ Gladly, Molly decided to shrug it off.

Sherlock eyed the small paper bag she was holding. Clothing store for women. Must have been Mary's doing since all Molly bought from stores these days were clothes for William or toys for William or books for William. Molly Hooper was a full-throttle mom.

"It's a dress I could use for the weekend." Molly said, noticing his interest. _Good work, Molly Hooper—_ Sherlock thought. "Speaking of the weekend, I was wondering if you could babysit. Mary arranged for a quick getaway to a paid-for cottage in Sussex and movie nights and stuff…but if you have other things to do, I won't do it. Just say the word."

Sherlock visibly slumped. A weekend without her? That would be dreadful. "Of course you can go, Molly. It's a weekend."

She smiled, "Okay then, it's set. Thank you, Sherlock."

They stood there, within short distance of one another, comfortable with the silence that they were in. They were thinking the same thing, about how _this_ felt like the most natural thing in the world, but both of them had their doubts. Molly was thinking of how she could never mean more to Sherlock than a friend and Will's presence in their lives can't change that. And Sherlock was thinking how he could never be good enough for Molly Hooper, and that one way or another, he would end up hurting her like she did many times before.

"So, are Will's things all ready? I better…" Molly said, breaking the moment.

Sherlock blinked, taking a lot longer to gain his footing. "Oh, yes." He reached for the baby bag and hung it on Molly's shoulder. "All set."

Molly smiled one more time, "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, yes." Sherlock smiled half-heartedly. He ruffled Will's hair and kissed the top of his head; the distance allowing him to smell the floral cologne on Molly, and bade them goodbye.

Later that night as Sherlock laid on his bed, he received a text message from Molly. At first he thought Will had gone down with a fever and was about to change his clothes, but relaxed as he saw the message.

 _ **Never mind the weekend plans. Lizzie's sick, Mary can't go. :(**_

Sherlock smirked. But soon wiped the smile off his face after reading the part about his goddaughter. Poor Lizzie.

 **Sorry about that. –SH**

 _ **Don't be. Was looking forward to a quiet weekend at home. :)**_

 **I have something better in mind.**

Sherlock had no idea why he was suggesting it; he only knew that it was the right thing to do. For once, he was going to kick logic to the backroom and let his emotions decide.

 **Let's go to Sussex. -SH**

 _ **What?**_

 **You. Me. William. It's a date, Molly Hooper. –SH**

 **-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**

Soooo, there's that! I hope you liked it. Please review? I'm a sucker for those and it keeps me going. Also, sometimes I think my view of Sherlock is getting a bit OOC, though I try very hard to write him the way Moffat and Gatiss does (duh of course I can't do that), so apologies for any OOC moments.


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